


Ain’t eez-eh

by simplerplease



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: -Ish, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, not a texting fic but they text a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-02-22 05:37:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13160382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplerplease/pseuds/simplerplease
Summary: Bill gets drunk, texts a number written on the club bathroom wall, regrets it, then falls in love.





	1. hollaback girl

**Author's Note:**

> we need more stenbrough fics  
> w i t h o u t any bathrooms for fuck’s sake

_**my** **condolenes** _

Bill stares at the message with red eyes, puffy and wet from sleeping for about eleven hours, unexplainable panic slowly getting over his head, still dozy with sleep. His first thoughts are simple: Georgie’s dead, Eddie’s injured, Richie’s in jail, then his brain starts loading a bit faster — 28%, 33%, 42%, and Bill — fucking finally — decides to look at the name of the contact.

Stan The Man

_Who the fuck’s Stan The Man._

Then, at about 78%, Bill’s gaze slips to the previous messages. His messages.

The loading’s completed. 100%. Bill suddenly feels sick.

 

**I wits I could cockblocl with a starre**

 

**My fried thinks he can but hjs boyf thinkd he looojs very hot when he’s angru so it doesntwork**

 

***

 

When Bill shows up at the kitchen, it’s half past four.  
  
There are times when you’re okay with doing homework every day, okay with 7pm classes, with never ending essays, translations and analyses. You feel satisfied and content, you know you don’t waste your life on nothing, and a little tiredness is okay, you’re okay. And sometimes it just eats your brains out, your head feels like exploding, you can’t go through that hell anymore, everything you do seems shitty and pointless, and from the personal view of Bill Denbrough’s, the best and only solution is to get completely fucking hammered.

Because drinking on a regular night makes him feel kinda pathetic, like he wasted the night on nothing, and then the day and the evening after too, on the couch, with a box of thai shit in your lap. And if things are bad and getting drunk is not for fun but a coping mechanism, it’s suddenly not that bad anymore.

Before entering the club Bill was panicking because he felt like that English history essay and “A nightingale and a rose” analysis would take more than two days and he was fucked. Now, he thinks that he’s so lucky he only has to do those two papers, maybe even in the evening so Sunday would be free.

He’s still panicking though. And he’s still fucked. But this time, it’s not because of some shitty assignment. “Stan the man” is his problem he’s been trying to figure out what to do with for about thirty minutes in the shower.

“You’re thinking too loud, “ Eddie informs him from the living room, standing up of the couch. He looks okay, a bit tired, but still better than Bill, messy attempts of lovebites covering the side of his neck, hair curling, big hipster glasses sitting on his freckled nose. He puts them off and rubs his eyes with his thumb and index finger.

Eddie must’ve woken up at ten or eleven am, like he always does even if that means he’d only get those four of five hours of sleep. He drinks like a bitch and swears like a sailor, and Bill can swear you’ll never meet a person ruder than Eddie Kaspbrak, but the boy still says that the most important hours of sleep are from ten to two and that it doesn’t matter how many morning hours you’ll sleep. So, he usually wakes up at ten, then gets proper tired and falls asleep at nine in the evening, to wake up at six am and continue loving his life.

“Where’s Ruh-richie?” Bill asks, taking the kettle and pouring there some water. His hair is still damp, body muffled in a blanket cocoon, stomach’s growling. Knots in his chest tightening.

“Dead,” matter-of-factly says Eddie and opens the fridge. “I’m hungry as fuck, you want pizza? Oh-h, or those pancakes with syrup?”

“Tell them t-to put some ice cream with the pan-pancakes,” Bill nods and puts a teabag in his mug. “Want tea?”

“Uh-huh, thanks, I’ll order and then we’ll talk.”

“T-talk?”

But Eddie’s already on the phone, taking to the diner next door. The only person who can cook in their trio is Richie, who’s currently dead, and while Bill’s best go-to is sandwiches with avocado and leftover chicken Richie made or an omelet, Eddie can make a nice bowl of spaghettis if you buy him a can of ground beef sauce.

“They’re ready in ten,” Eddie says and sits on the chair by the counter. “What’s wrong?”

Bill shrugs and pours the water in the cups. He puts one of them in front of Eddie and sits, Eddie patiently watching him, like he always does. _Take your time. I know you’ll tell me anyway._

“So there’s that guh-guy I texted last night,” he starts, taking a spoonful of sugar. Another one, then another one. “Fuck.”

Eddie takes a sip of his tea, eyes never leaving Bill.

“This is fuck-fucking embarrassing. So I’m telling you, not Richie. B-because he’ll tell me I need toh-to get laid.”

“You texted a whore?”

“No, I don’t think s-so.”

“You don’t think so?” Eddie’s smiling now. Bill rolls his eyes.

“I have no idea wah-what happened but there was that ph-phone number written in the wuh-wall and...and a...a review I guess,” his cheeks are pink right now. Like, properly pink.

“Bill, what did it say?” Eddie’s shit-eating grin makes Bill’s face fucking burn.

“Fble muth, cbckn steh,” he mumbles, trying to drown in his cup or to disappear in the steam of tea.

“What? I’m sorry, I didn’t get it.”

“Fuckable mouth, cockblocking stare.”

Eddie’s laughter wakes Richie up as he growls somewhere in the background.

“Oh my god, no you didn’t!” Eddie shrieks, face red like a tomato, while Bill’s red like a pomegranate. He starts to smile too, though, tension slowly leaving his body.

“I-I was just curious,” he says and opens their chat. “Look. Not-nothing, like, sexual or...“

“Good, because then I’d really think you need to get la—“ Eddie looks up and frowns. “Actually, Richie thinks I’m always hot, thank you very much.”

Bill laughs and shakes his head, not even embarrassed.

“What made y-you think it was about you?”

“I’m the only hot friend you have, Billiam, don’t be stupid,” Eddie rolls his eyes playfully and blocks the phone. “So you don’t know how to apologize, right?”

“I me-mean, I can ignore it all, buh-but I feel like I have tuh-to, yeah,” Bill shrugs a little, fingers slowly spinning the spoon.

“Just explain the whole situation, I don’t think he won’t understand. He didn’t block you, right? I mean I totally would, because those are fucking creepy.”

“Thank you,” Bill says sarcastically, to get a fake-genuine “Anytime, love!” before Eddie jumps off his seat to get to the door.

Good. Bill’s starving. He takes his phone and quickly types out a message.

 

**I feel extremely uncomfortable right now but**

 

**I was really wasted last night**

 

**And I’m really sorry for what happened**

 

**I promise it was just an accident**

 

**:(**

 

***

 

There’s a shit ton of new notifications when Bill takes his phone in his hands again in the evening after doing his homework. Twitter, Whatsapp, snaps from Georgie and Richie, a couple of advert emails, new messages. Papa John’s, his phone carrier, Stan the Man. Bill feels the anxiety creeping up his spine.

 

_**i figured** _

 

_**you know since you’re the first person to send me an actual text not a dick pic in the middle of the night i dare to ask you: where in the ever loving fuck did you find this number?** _

 

Like a weight off his shoulders. Bill relaxes on the couch.

 **Berlin** he only types and waits, although he has no fucking clue what for.

This time, the answer comes in in like three minutes or something, when Bill’s trying on new Christmas filters in snapchat to send Georgie a selfie.

 

**_at the loo?_ **

 

Bill chuckles, cheeks redden, ears starting to burn tho.

 

**Yeah**

 

**_and what else did it say?_ **

 

Bill’s not smiling any more. He’s red. And embarrassed. What the fuck.

 

**Nothing much, really. Looked like some angry shit you’d hear from you ex you know**

 

He swallows and wipes his palms on his jeans. It’s doesn’t matter if it was an honest review, he just didn’t want Stan to feel bad for admitting to, for example, suck a dick at the club bathroom and then get something like this in return. Suddenly Bill feels bad for Stan.

 

**_what’s your name?_ **

 

 **Bill** he types a bit gingerly, but without any second thoughts, a slight frown on his face.

 

**_bill i’m 100% positive it was my best friend who also happens to not have a cock so no crazy exes and angry shit_ **

 

**_well maybe she was bit angry but nevermind_ **

 

**_just tell me what it said okay?_ **

 

**_i wont bite_ **

 

**Fuckable mouth, cockblocking stare**

 

Bill’s teeth are digging into his bottom lip so deep it’s almost bleeding. Brows furrowed, and thank god he doesn’t stutter in the massages. He wouldn’t connect two words without stumbling over every letter.

 

**_well that’s accurate_ **

 

He catches himself grinning. _Cocky_.

***

About a month later they’re at Berlin again. Bill’s drunk again. In the bathroom. Again. And this time, he has a plan.

He finds a charpie somewhere and drags it out of his back pocket, his vision all blurry and mind heavy due to red bull x vodka collab, but he still makes it to the wall by the loo. The letters, large and round, are still there.

Bill bites his bottom lip and leans on the wall, and in a few seconds there’s just a big ball of black chaotic lines scrabbled left. The boy smiles to himself proudly and takes a quick photo to send it to the number it’s been a month since they talked with.

 

 


	2. modern love

 

The phone screen hurts his eyes and his head’s ready to explode, but Bill still stares at the messages with a shit-eating grin on his face.

 

_**my hero** _

 

_**no seriously thank you** _

  
  
**Anytime love**

 

**Actually I don’t really remember doing this you know**

 

_**no i don’t** _

 

Bill bites his bottom lip and sends a sad emoji. He’s wide awake now. 

 

_**i mean i don’t get drunk to the point of losing control** _

 

**Of course you don’t**

 

Three grey dots appear and reappear for four times. Bill wouldn’t admit it but he’s becoming impatient. When the phone finally vibrates, he smirks.

 

_**excuse me** _

 

**It’s just**

 

**You seem like someone who’s always in control of stuff**

 

The answer comes in almost immediately this time.

 

**_what kind of stuff?_ **

 

**Cocks**

 

**_oh my god_ **

 

**What? You’re a cockblocker, remember??**

 

**_im blocking you_ **

 

**No**

 

**You’re not**

 

No he’s not.

 

***

 

_**i mean i’d never think i could get into some russian symbolism poetry but fail the driver’s license tests for straight up four times** _

 

“Eds, he’s been on the phone for a week, what’s happening?” Richie pouts one Sunday evening, when his head is in Eddie’s lap, legs resting on Bill’s, but whilst Eddie’s hands are automatically running through Richie’s long curls, Bill’s are busy whether holding the phone near his face or tapping rapidly at the screen.

 

**I guess you’re too smart for them**

 

**_sometimes i really do fail the simplest stuff_ **

 

**Overthinking is a bitch**

 

Eddie turns his head to Bill and tilts it to the left a little bit. He doesn’t know and he doesn’t ask, but at this point, Bill doesn’t mind telling them. Even Richie. They’re just chatting, after all. A bit in between the classes, sometimes on the lunch break, pretty much every evening, because, well. It’s not that hard to type out a message, right? So why not?

“Just chatting!?”

Eddie and Bill both roll their eyes when Richie squeaks too dramatically after Bill’s story.

“Yeah. He-he’s funny.”

 

**_aleksandr blok doesn’t approve_ **

 

“Oh let me see this funny,” he grimaces and leans to grab Bill’s phone, but Eddie tugs at his curls and the boy yelps.

“Behave,” he warns and there’s a little smirk on Richie’s lips.

“You should be on my side, you know,” he licks his lips and stares at Eddie upside down.

The look Eddie gives his boyfriend before turning back to the tv screen is full of disgust, and Richie smiles widely before taking Eddie’s little hand in his fingers and kissing it sweetly. Bill watches the smaller boy’s ears flush at the very tips.

“I still love you, Edward Spaghedward.”

“As if you ever let me forget it,” Eddie mutters blankly, but his thumb begins to stroke Ruchie’s forehead slowly, the other hand still in the much bigger one, fingers intertwined.

“You gonna meet him, William?” Richie asks, almost purring in content of his life at the moment.

“Nah, I don’t think so. We’re juh-just...just talking,” he shrugs. It’s true. He doesn’t think he would like to meet Stan or anything, he likes it like that. Maybe it’ll die out soon, but at least now, the screen lighting up makes Bill’s eyes light up a little too.

“About what?”

 

**Hahaha true**

 

**I didn’t know you have to learn russian poetry as an art major as well**

 

“Duh-dunno. Things. Memes. Booze. He told me I should buy that red wine you cooked your pasta with yesterday, b-by the way.”

“Cheap and descent one?” Bill nods and Eddie nods too in approve. 

“He cooks?” Richie’s eyebrows jump high in a moment. He likes finding out what people have in common with him. It excites him as fuck for some unknown to Bill reasons.

“His friend does, he just m-messes around in the kitchen, helping.”

“You two fucks don’t ever help me,” Richie sighs dramatically.

“You never ask,” Eddie shrugs.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t need help...at least your presence...my dear friends...”

“I-if Eddie hangs out at the kitchen while you’re cooking, weh-we’ll starve out.”

“I can blow him when he’s at the cooker so he doesn’t get distracted.”

Bill cracks up with laughter when Richie’s eyes turn dark, face suddenly all straight.

“G-go to your room, you sick perverts.”

“Don’t be jealous,” Eddie winks at him, but his face softens when Bill looks at the new notification.

 

_**ooooh my precious lady i dream of in the shitty pubs at night** _

 

**I’m flattered**

  
***

 

**_today i woke up and couldn’t find my socks i remember hanging at the radiator in the evening_ **

 

_**then i looked up** _

 

_**and what the fuck bill** _

 

There’s a picture of a couple of white and black socks randomly laying on the leaves of orchids, cactuses and other plants Bill doesn’t recognize. He chuckles.

 

**Why am I sure your infamous friend did that when you were asleep**

 

**_that’s the point_ **

 

**_she stayed at her boy’s this night_ **

 

**_i think i did that_ **

 

**_i dont remember shit_ **

 

**_but when i was a child my mom used to tell me i was walking at night too loudly_ **

 

**_which i didn’t remember doing_ **

 

**_so_ **

 

**_maybe i’m a lunatic_ **

 

**_or there’s a poltergeist in my house yay_**

 

**_hope he’s hot_ **

 

**Freak**

 

_**are you kinkshaming me** _

 

**Imagine you’re being fucked by a poltergeist and then someone enters the room**

 

**_why do you think i’d be someone to get fucked?_ **

 

Bill’s smirk falls. He stares at the message blankly, his breathing becomes bit faster. Just a bit, but still.

 

**I always imagined you as a power bottom**

 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He shouldn’t have done that. It’s not what he tried to say, not like that.

Of course, Stan doesn’t miss it.

 

**_you imagined me in that case, billy?_ **

 

Oh my god. He feels the heat spreading across his face and something tightening up in his lower belly.

 

**No, fuck, I didn’t mean that I was imagining you**

 

**Like**

 

**Bottoming**

 

**I swear**

 

**I just**

 

**I thought you’d be a bottom**

 

**Fuck**

 

**I feel very uncomfortable right now**

 

Bill presses his hand to his lips and looks at three dots appearing in the bottom of the screen after a couple of unbelievably long seconds.

 

_**you’re adorable, you know** _

 

When the door bell rings and Eddie lets Georgie in, Bill’s face is so red Eddie asks if he chocked on something.

***

When Bill’s not dying, he usually takes Georgie out to the cinema or their favourite diner. This time, they’re seing Thor, and as much as Bill hates all those Marvel or whatever films, he loves spending time with his little brother, watch him laugh after Bill makes a sarcastic remark about any of those superhero “funny jokes”, see the excitement of getting the biggest Ice Blast, skittles, pop corn and hotdogs all combined.

This time he gets Thor completely blown up, because it’s the stupidest superhero of all and also he’s really far from pretty. Georgie laughs and tells him about previous or upcoming marvel films, and yeah, Bill doesn’t give a shit, but he still listens and asks questions.

“Who’s texting you constantly?” Georgie suddenly asks when they get out of the theater.

Bill doesn’t have to look at the phone at this point.

“A f-friend of mine, you don’t know him.”

“Why won’t you answer?”

“Because I’m being a gug-good brother?”

“Sending a message or two won’t hurt my feelings,” Georgie chuckles and shoves the last four candies in his mouth.

“It’s...complicated, Gee, you don’t have to kno—“

“Do you like him?”

“I haven’t met him, I said it was com—“

“How do you know him? And why does he text you—“

“Georgie oh my god,” Bill sometimes thinks that his brother grew up too fast but then he remembers Richie and. Well. You know. “Stop asking questions. there’s nothing tuh-to worry about in the end.”

His phone vibrates one more time and Georgie grins.

“Why don’t you wanna tell me?”

“Because it’s a stupid st-story, trust m-me.”

“But Bill!” the boy pouts and crosses his arms on his chest. Bill sighs. He can’t say no to this little gentleman, never could.

“I accidentally texted him once and wuh-we started talking after it. Now we’re like ph-pen pals or summat.”

Georgie giggles and shakes his head.

“That’s the dumbest way to fuck someone.”

“Jesus, that’s not what I wuh-was trying to say, I don’t wanna fuck him, he’s jus-just a nice company for when I’m bored.”

“Okay, Billy, I’m going to pee now. Glad you found a way to entertain yourself.”

“Yeah, me t-too,” Bill smiles sarcastically and leans on the wall, taking the phone into his hands.

 

_**why the fuck don’t they have my fucking banana muffins** _

 

_**i fucking hate this world** _

 

_**i come to the fucking coffee shop every day to get a muffin not a soRrY wE dONt hAvE tHosE todAY** _

 

_**if that barista girl thinks she’ll get my number after that** _

 

_**newsflash sweetie** _

 

_**i’m GAY and MAD** _

 

Bill laughs softly at that and continues to read the later messages.

 

**i like haikus, you know**

 

**_it’s weird how_ **

 

**_like, perfect they sound_ **

 

**_if i say something like that in a regular sentence with a couple more words there wouldn’t be such grace and such strong emotion in it_ **

 

**_moreover, itd sound dumb_ **

 

**_but in haiku i can say any weird shit possible_ **

 

**_and it’d make sense because of the beauty of that 5-7-5 concept_ **

 

It’s a common thing now, between the two of them. Like a diary, they use their chat to tell things they probably can’t or don’t want to tell in front of the others. Bill wonders if they could be like that in real life, just talking and talking and talking, and the answer is probably no. Some other shit would block it, however, that’s not the scenario.

 

**@the banana muffin story**

 

**The ending’s to die for + calm down at least you have something to wait for tomorrow am I right?**

 

**I remember we had to write some haikus and I was almost dead so I wrote some real bullshit**

 

**And the teacher liked it loads**

 

**Maybe it’s because of that concept, I agree**

 

**Our brain makes us all perfectionists**

 

**I just got out of the cinema and why won’t they make that Loki guy wash his hair**

 

**Idk if it’s okay but it was almost all I could think about**

 

**Like when you’re talking to someone and all you can focus on is their yellow teeth or an eyelash on their cheek**

 

“What’s his name?” Bill flinches and looks up to see Georgie, staring at him half-expectantly, half-teasingly.

“His name’s S-stan and I think it’s time for you to go to bed already so let’s take you haw-home, young lady,” Bill grins as Georgie rolls his eyes.

“I don’t feel like sleeping at all,” he pouts, heading to the exit.

“It’s because you’re su-sugar-high, you better drink that water or you’ll die tomorrow mo-morning.”

***

 

**_you’re sad_ **

 

Bill blinks in frustrated confusion. Eddie and Richie are out, the apartment is quiet, so Bill lets himself sprawl on the couch and stare at the tv screen without a single clue what’s going on there. He remembers some cooking program being aired when he first turned it on, but now, when he’s back to our dimension, there’s Samantha dragging Carrie out of a restaurant or something. He also has no idea how Stan learned that he was sad, because he only said some shit about Thor two hours ago and then just didn’t read or answer Stan’s messages. Melancholy hill is a place for one.

 

**How could you tell?**

 

**_you just did_ **

 

**That’s old**

 

Bill is 100% positive the feeling rising up in his chest is regret. It’s stronger in five, seven, ten minutes there’s been no new notifications within. _Fuck_.

 

**Stan**

 

**Im so sorry**

 

_Please don’t hate me._

 

**I didn’t mean to offend you**

 

_Come back for Christ’s sake_.

 

**_?_ **

 

**_no i just thought you might want to be alone_ **

 

Bill’s

heart

melts.

Sometimes people don’t understand that in the minutes of grief, the most important thing is to leave the person alone. Some people are too sticky, they think it’s essential — to go through shit hand in hand with people they care about. Maybe some need it, but from what Bill has seen, has felt, has known, space means much more. Space and capturing that perfect moment when it’s time to come back.

Bill realizes he thinks too much. But after all, he needs to make conclusions to himself. Like mental notes.

 

**I walked Georgie home and had to face mom**

 

**She said thank you and good night**

 

**Grimaced when Georgie was hugging me for a minute or so**

 

**Georgie on the other hand did that to piss her off**

 

**He could hardly hold himself from cracking while hugging me**

 

**I’m just thinking**

 

**I wouldn’t change anything**

 

**But sometimes it just hits hard you know**

 

**I think about what if-s a lot but it always ends the same way**

 

**I think oh, what if it could be different, what if it was like that or like that**

 

**But then I find too many pros and cons in everything and realize that it wouldn’t be better than now. Different, maybe, but not better**

 

**And in the end I come to the very beginning**

 

**_i think everything is at its own place, balanced_ **

 

**_you have shit for parents but treasure for a brother, it somehow equals a regular brother+regular parents_ **

 

**_jealousy is so overrated_ **

 

**_and so are moms and dads_ **

 

**_you’ve just spent an awesome evening with georgie, tomorrow is the easy day, your roommate’s gonna cook you something nice for dinner_ **

 

**_don’t let them kill your vibe_ **

 

Bill feels warm. It’s not anything specific, anything boom. His eyelids feel too heavy to hold. Something either dumb or tacky is on tv, the blanket smells like lavender and Eddie, too familiar and soft. Bill feels like a warm chai latte, like a sheep-shaped hot water bottle.

When his mind finally drifts off, his mom and what if-s are the last things on the list.


	3. hollaback girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so  
> yea

 

Bill chuckles to himself after seing the disappointment written over the faces of his classmates with low marks on their papers. Stan said he feels pretty much good, even fucking awesome when they all cheat and he doesn’t and his works are better. I don’t blame them for cheating, he says, I don’t even care at this point, but when I’m better than they are on my own...I’m living bitch, I am li-ving.

 

**It’s like some kind of a**

**Like**

 

**Passive-aggressive satisfaction**

 

**_fucking told you_ **

 

“Ow! I’m so sorry-y-y Jesus!”

Bill blinks a couple of times to realize that someone has just crashed into him. A girl, now mumbling apologies with an easy smile. She picks up Bill’s phone from the ground and puts it in his hand.

“Thank god it didn’t break! You’re a lucky one, mine always does when I drop it.”

“Guess I am,” Bill says absently and blinks. He doesn’t understand what caused the girl smile that brightly. Her smile’s pretty, though. Pink lipstick she’s wearing matches the tone of her cocoa powder skin and hair, bit darker.

The boy presses his lips together, waves a little and continues walking to his next class, which is English literature.

  
**Oh my god**

 

**It’s March**

   
**Why the fuck won’t they memorize their seats**

 

**I’m sick of sitting somewhere in the bottom**

 

**_who’s the bottom now huh_ **

 

**You can’t be serious right now**

 

**Also**

**I’m pretty sure it proves that I switch thank you**

 

**_anytime_ **

 

  
“Hi again!” Bill’s eyes meet girls’s green ones from a couple of minutes ago. “Is this seat taken?”

“Seems like no one gives a sh-shit about taken and free seats so I guess n-no.”

Bill watches her giggle and sit next to him. Her perfume’s not annoying.

“I have to make a confession,” she says and her smile turns into a sheepish one.

Bill nods, encouragingly. At least he hopes so. He still feels like a deer in headlights, he has no idea what’s going on.

“I bumped into you on purpose,” she whispers after leaning in a little and there are wrinkles in the corners of her eyes again. It’s cute. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for like, two weeks or so, but you always seem so busy so I don’t—god, I feel stupid, I should probably go...”

“No, wait. Why did you wuw-wanna talk?”

She blinks in confusion.

“Because I’m interested in you?”

Bill’s lips slowly form a perfect o.

“Wanna get coffee after classes?”

She gets a nod and a smile and Bill gets a smile in return. She’s pretty, very pretty. And her smiles are not as annoying as they should be.

Her name’s Alissa with two s-s.

 

**I’ve never met an Alissa before**

 

**It sounds better than Alice**

 

**_there’s a song called miss alissa and trust me it’ll be stuck in your head for eternity_ **

 

**For eternity until I listen to Living next door to Alice* you wanted to say**

 

**_bill let us not get into the fight which one’s stickier_ **

 

**_we both know felicita would murder both of them_ **

 

**Agreed**

 

***

“Who’s that girl you were sitting at Starbucks with?” Eddie asks in the evening, when they’re laying in front of the telly, Richie singing Africa in the kitchen as he cooks meatballs and mashed potatoes for the dinner.

“Just a girl. Sh-she sat next to me in class and asked me out bec-because apparently, she likes it when I argue with teachers over some bullshit.”

“And you just said yes?”

“Well she didn’t se-seem like a serial killer, why wouldn’t I?”

“What about Stan?”

“Wuh-what about Stan?”

Eddie presses his lips together and turns his head. Then he shrugs.

“Eddie, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t be ah-an asshole.”

“I’m actually trying, so fuck off.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re an adult, okay? There’s no point in chaperoning you, you’re capable of making your own decisions. I’m just worried.”

“About what?” Bill goes from being sprawled on the couch like an octopus to sitting right beside Eddie in a moment, his eyes looking at the boy softly, yet in concern.

“I just don’t want the history to repeat itself. Every time they break up with you because you don’t talk enough, right? The problem is, they never realize they have to show they can listen. I have no fucking clue how, but you gotta feel it to start to open up. It’s not just “you can talk to me” or “feel free to talk with me about anything,” Eddie mimics. “Stan did it. Almost single-messagely,” he finally meets Bill’s gaze. “Thumbs up if you wanna try something with that girl, but how the fuck don’t you see that you don’t need to? Not anymore?”

Eddie was the reason he had his nose broken for the first time. Eddie was his first dance class partner. Eddie was his first crush, his first kiss, his first handjob, his first blowjob, his first. Eddie and Bill are closer than Richie and Eddie are, but it’s something higher and deeper than love. Bill has always thought it was that kind of friendship you will never comprehend, but feel with all the fibers of your being. He’s never been jealous of Eddie, he’s never regretted their break up, he’s never doubted his firstest place in Eddie’s life. And nor did Eddie. That’s why Bill leans in to bury his head in the crook of Eddie’s neck, his shoulders, too bony and thin to belong to a twenty one years old boy, feel as familiar as Bill’s hand on his own dick.

“I’m af-afraid we’re just fr-frieds, Eddie,” he mutters and feels Eddie’s head go down and up in less than a second.

“Answer him then, tiger,” there’s something tight and tormented in the smaller boy’s voice. “Your phone’s been buzzing all night.”

“It’s not h-him, it must be Alissa. He’s at some cuh-concert today.”

Bill doesn’t see the look Eddie and Richie, who’s been there for a minute or so, exchange with. Obviously, they stare at each other like they’re on The Office.

***

  
_**so i’ve gone to see that orchid show today and shit** _

 

_**there are literally four days until the end of it bc the period of their blooming will be over soon** _

 

_**and i asked if i could take a couple of flowers bc i press them and kind of collect that stuff** _

 

_**and i was like why not they all gonna fall in a few days** _

 

_**and still they didn’t let me** _

 

_**i feel very attacked** _

 

**How about stealing some when no one watches?**

 

_**wow bill you’re a fucking genius i could never think of that** _

 

**Oh shut up**

 

**_every time i hear oh shut up i remember kennedy davenport’s lil richard at snatch game_ **

 

**Uuuuhwoooooahhhhh**

 

**_if that’s your impression of his high note_ **

 

**Then what?**

 

_**;)** _

 

**:/**

 

**_:(_ **

 

**Oh god okay**

 

**(;**

 

**_i don’t need your favours_ **

 

**You’re so fucking complicated you have no idea**

 

_Wanna go to the cinema tomorrow??_

 

Bill’s poor little heart skips a couple of beats before he realizes the message was not Stan’s but Alissa’s.

The thought he’s been ignoring for weeks, within those two or three seconds scared the shit out of him. He kind of always knew that time would come sooner or later, and at this point Bill shouldn’t be surprised, but it still caught him off-guard, the possibility of meeting Stan in real life. Fuck no. He’s not ready.

Hes not ready to end it yet.

So Bill lets go of breath he didn’t realize he was holding and types out a message.

 

**There’s nothing good at the theaters**

 

_Oh_

 

Bill blinks and sends another one.

 

**Wanna go to an orchid show instead?**

 

***

  
When Bill enters the pavilion, the smell of warm earth hits him hard. His whole body relaxes all at once, he can almost feel his skin softening and blood cleansing, it’s much easier to breathe. He can’t explain that, but this place has this energy. It feels as if he’s in the jungle, his forehead’s already sweaty, just like dewy leaves of plants on the left, on the right, above them, everywhere. The air’s muggy, but it’s not gross, the opposite actually.

Still, the boy has an empty carton of Malboro Reds, the one that had ten packs in it, in his backpack, a girl to drag less attention to his persona, and a plan. No, not like he’s using Alissa to steal orchids for Stan. She wanted to meet anyway, that was a wise move to kill two birds with one stone.

And now her adorable giggles and ramblings about her mom’s orchids are floating around, Bill almost feels bad for not listening, and yet he has to follow his plan, right? He has to—

“No fucking way,” Bill mutters under his breath, Alissa confusedly shuts up. “Mike!”

There’s a beautiful dark-skinned boy dressed in worker’s uniform, standing in the corner. He looks up, and the whole place lightens up with his smile. Bill must admit, he had a crush on Mike when they first met at the coffee shop Bill used to work at as a freshman, but it died away soon and the two became really good friends.

A few seconds after Bill’s captured in Mike’s tight grip, laughing.

Bill knew he had been working as a manager for over a year now, but didn’t know where exactly. They talk over five minutes about this and that, until Alissa coughs politely.

“Oh, sorry, M-mike, that’s Alissa, my classmate. Alissa, that’s my guh-good friend Mike.”

Mike, seing a glimpse of disappointment in girl’s eyes, chuckles and shakes her hand.

And then Bill decides to ask about the orchids.

“I know, right! A couple of schoolgirls came today, a hot guy asked if he could take a few of them yesterday, and it’s really stupid to reject, at least a little bit of this beauty would be captured.”

Bill feels as if the air has been just knocked out of his lungs. A hot guy. He immediately swallows hard, because otherwise he’s sure such things as “how did he look??”, “what did his voice sound like???” and “what was the colour of his eyes!????” would inevitably embarrass the shit out of him. Suddenly the air is so much harder to breathe in.

“You know what? They can’t say no to me, plus we’re closing in two days for fuck’s sake, so lemme get those babies for you Big Bill,” Mike claps his hands abruptly and makes his way to the very entrance. “My fellow ladies and gentlemen, this first beautiful flower is...purple and yellow and—“

And so it goes, interrupted with Bill and Alissa’s giggles, Mike leads the way in the jungles of palm trees, orchids hanging down from every corner and every brunch, tells them about weird clients and douchey employers, puts the fragile buttons in the carton gingerly and sends cordial smiles to all the visitors passing by.

“He’s really sweet,” Alissa says when they get out of the building, the box placed carefully under Bill’s right arm.

“Oh he is. I-I can give you h-his phone number, if you wuh-wanna.”

Alissa’s face, only for a second, goes completely blank. She shakes it off quickly though and chuckles.

“Well you collect pressed flowers, how sweet this is!”

“Those are not for me, those are for my friend, he collects them.”

 _What the fuck Bill_  is the only name you could give to the emotions written over the poor girl’s face.

“A friend?”

“Yeah,” Bill says, “it is actually a funny story.”

 

***

 

“She did what now?” Richie asks again, his eyes as round as two abricots, while Eddie’s laughter is ready to flood the space between the three of them.

“She said it was the time fu-for me to realize I’m in love with Stan and as-asked for Mike’s phone.”

“Good girl.”

“What a hoe!” Richie exclaims and shakes his head. It’s as dramatic as always, but Bill can tell he’s not fucking with him.

“No, it’s okay,” Bill says with a shrug. “I was-wasn’t really interested in huh-her. She’s sweet as hell and really fucking gorg, and she’s not dumb, but...I dud-don’t know.”

“So are you going to meet Stan now?” Richie blurts out, clearly dying to ask it from the very moment they saw the flower box.

“Nope. I’m gonna le-leave the box in Target, between the others.”

“And spy on him when he’ll be talking it, you’re such a—”

“No Rich, unfortu-tunately, I have a class at six, so.”

Eddie and Richie both stare at him flatly.

“Sometimes I think you need help,” Richie says after shoving the phone back to Bill. “But then I realize all you need is a brain.”

“Just like you honey,” Eddie deadpans and looks at Bill. “That’s really nice of you, actually.”

“I thought you wanted him to get his head out of his ass too...”

Eddie just shrugs.

 

**_so i have to go to target to find a particular carton of marlboro reds and you won’t even tell me what’s inside_ **

 

**_do i get it right?_ **

 

**Yeah, exactly**

 

**I have to be at the uni in an hour so don’t worry I’m not going to stalk you**

 

**_i know_ **

 

  
***

 

**_okay ben gates you really did that for me_ **

 

Bill doesn’t ever bother hiding his smile in the middle of the Guy de Maupassant lecture.

 

**Fuck thank god you found it**

 

**I was worried they could find it first**

 

_**bill?** _

 

**Yeah?**

 

**_thank you_ **

 

**No problem love**

 


	4. houdini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...uh  
> a lot of things happen  
> i didn’t expect that either

 

“Do you realize mom’s gon-gonna fucking kill you?” Bill shakes his head with a smile on his lips when Georgie gets out of the doctor’s with his hand properly bandaged. The boy tripped on his own feet at school, bless his innocent soul. Bill was worried sick until his saw Georgie’s half mischievous, half guilty eyes at the hospital after he got the call.

“I do,” he huffs and shrugs. “But I’m a child after all, it happens all the time.”

“Right,” Bill chuckles and pats his beautiful burnt caramel hair softly.

The weather is rainy, but neither one of boys are blue. Somewhere behind the clouds there are yellow, almost white rays of sunshine breaking free. Bill skipped his history class, his least favourite of all, and Georgie...well. No school for four days, the doctor said. And today’s Tuesday.

“Wanna grab some food and go tut-to mine?” Bill asks to get the brightest smile in return, followed with the sun finally hitting Georgie’s greenish-blue eyes, just like the sea in the morning, when the sky is the purest shade of blue.

  
***

 

**_back to our bad vs good conversation_ **

 

**_okay so my mom died when i was little and my dad has always been nothing but super nice to me, caring and giving_ **

 

**_but also very demanding which made me demanding as well_ **

 

**_not just to myself but to everyone including my friends and_ **

 

**_obviously_ **

 

**_boys_ **

 

**_and i’m telling you this right now bc i’m fucking drunk after another date i thought could go nice... no the boy was good but_ **

 

**_as usual_ **

 

**_not good enough_ **

 

**_as a child i used to think i’d think i’d never be good enough_ **

 

**_but living with the opposite thing sucks too_ **

 

**_i’ve never had a boyfriend for more than a month and i don’t think i need one bc i’m great on my own_ **

 

**_but sometimes it hits hard_ **

 

**_you know it better than anyone else_ **

 

**_also no i’m not super drunk i’m medium drunk if you let me_ **

 

**_idk i just want to talk_ **

 

**_mind if i call you?_ **

 

_[2 missed calls from Stan the Man]_

 

_**alright bill i’m not a type to regret shit so don’t worry we’re not going to be uncomfortable** _

 

_**shit just happens** _

 

  
There are trillions of thoughts bombarding Bill’s poor head at the moment, following walking Georgie home after a nice Taco Bell and Jesse Eisenberg films session and being clearly _not ready_ for something like that. He wants to do anything — he can’t, cannot, because he doesn’t know which way to choose, doesn’t know which emotion to let be in control, because there are too many, _just too many_. He had no idea it was possible — to feel so much, to contain this number of _shit_ , swirling and twirling and tangling up so deeply he’s almost out of breath.

There’s jealousy. Angry and offended jealousy, creeping up his ears and inside his head with a blank noise, as if the tv conductor was broken and there are grey patterns all over the screen now. He feels as if _someone else was chosen instead of him, and what the fuck? What the fuck?_ **_A date_** he reads again, receiving one more slap right in the face.

There’s gloat, big-mouthed and vain, it feels good. Reassuring. _**The date was not good enough** , oh, what a pity. My fucking condolences._

There’s something childish, his infantile and stubborn ego, one of the strongest emotions. Something screaming _I’m going to be good, I’m going to be good enough, I’m the one you need, they won’t do you right, but I will, I for sure will._

There’s one more strong thought. Insecurity. _No you’re not_. It’s mixed up with fear, with jealousy again, as if to say “no. no, you’re not the one he needs, you’ll stay like that forever, watching and craving for more, while the others pull him closer, kiss him harder, hold him tighter”. _You’re a stuttering mess and he needs someone perfect, someone beautiful, someone smart, someone...someone who’s not you._

There’s regret. Pity. He’s selfish and conceited, but he also feels sorry for all those dates and one-month relationships of Stan’s. Paired up with the unstoppable, heavy desire to be the one to last more than a month. _Much more._ Because they understand each other, because they care, because Stan texted him that evening, because Stan called _him_ ten minutes ago, not anyone else, because...

 _Oh fuck_.

“Fuck me motherfucking bitch!” Bill cursed, starting with barely a whisper and ending with a loud, almost heartbreaking shout. “Fuck!”

“What’s happening, William, you okay!?” Richie storms in his room in a matter of seconds, giant glasses-magnifiers he wears at home make his terrified eyes so big and round they’re almost falling out of the frames.

Bill looks at him, clearly going through a panic attack. He’s sitting on his bed, legs crossed, hair damp from the shower he’s just taken, hands shaking a little. The boy almost feels the hits his heart attacks his ribcage with. His reaction shouldn’t be like this, it’s too fucking much.

Richie crosses the room and sits on Bill’s bed, opens his mouth to ask once more, but Bill doesn’t need it.

“Stan cuc-cuh-called me wuw-when i wow-was at the shower and I...I...Richie...

“Call him back you dumbass! Immediately! Right now, William, I’m not fucking with you!”

Sometimes he’s too much with his inflammable personality, 14-years old-ish voice, abrupt movements and chaotic mood changes, but right now, it’s exactly that kind of a push Bill needs. He slides his finger over the screen and watches, enchantedly, how Stan’s number appears as an ongoing call.

He only breathes in when Richie puts his hand on his shoulder and squeezes it a little bit.

“He-he’s not—“

“Try again.”

Bill presses the red button and blocks the phone screen. Richie’s there, in front of him, sighing loudly.

“At least text him back.”

“Yea, I will,” Bill says, head still down, little shivers running down his neck and shoulders.

“By the way, you wanna come to the tattoo shop with me?” Richie asks with a mischievous grin, and Bill feels so grateful for that. It’s his own way of comforting people: he distracts them with a little conversations, mostly plans of going somewhere together so the person doesn’t feel like he’s going to be alone, in the soonest future.

“Why the fuf-fuck are you going there?”

“Well, I’ve been planning this for a while, to get a proper tatt, not just...ya know,” he chuckles and looks at his arm with a constellation of little silly hand poked tattoos, mostly done at local uni parties. He has a little bicycle under his wrist bone, this one is for Bill, because as a freshman he used to ride his adored bike called Silver literally all the time. The biggest one is a spaghetti bowl. Eddie Spaghetti — that was the nickname Richie decided to dedicate to Eddie when they met and the boy fell helplessly in love. Bill thinks it’s adorable. Eddie thinks it’s stupid, just like the tattoo, but once, when he was super wasted, he kept tracing it with his fingers and saying that it was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for him and that he had even cried after seing it. “So I thought maybe in a week or two?”

“Oh course I’ll cuh-come with you,” Bill says and looks at his phone again to see nothing but a jet black surface.

“Alright, I’m gonna cuddle my boy, you take care of yours,” and with a smirk and a wet loud kiss pressed to Bill’s cheek, Richie goes out of the room.

 

**Stan are you okay?**

 

**I’m sorry I missed your calls, I was taking a shower**

 

Bill bites his lip and presses the little green handset icon again. No answer. Again.

 

**Stan**

 

**Call me back or text me**

 

**Anyway**

 

**Hope you’re alright**

 

**With all the pros and cons**

 

**I think the person you’ll eventually find satisfying and even good enough will be worth all those cons after all**

 

“Fuck,” Bill exhales softly and pinches his nose bridge with his thumb and index finger.

 

_I think I’m falling._

 

***

Bill hasn’t been ashamed of his stutter since he was like, thirteen. As already stated, he’s never been a talker, but he stopped seing his defect as something embarrassing and ugly when he realized that people...people understand. Long story short, his parents had been too enthusiastic about shutting him up when he was very, very little, so the fear of talking grew into stuttering, and it’s a pretty complicated story too, so Bill decided to do himself a favour and leave it.

Until now.

He never thought he was ugly, but the weird colour of his hair, neither ginger nor brown, his too square two front teeth, his nose, too _triangle_ for his face, his forehead too big, his lips too purple, his ears... _oh my god_ , his ears are a disaster. Not just big, they’re so fucking huge it draws all the attention. And _Jesus_ , that ugly eyebrow scar from when he was a child...catastrophe.

Clearly, Bill’s having fun in the morning.

He fell asleep, thinking and getting used to the thought of having pretty much a crush on a person he’s never met and yeah, probably won’t ever meet. It feels uncomfortable. Somewhere in the back of his mind Bill knows he’s known that for a while now, but for some reasons, he aggressively started to read himself for every little flaw just yesterday, in the evening. Maybe that’s because of Stan’s confession. Most likely. But that makes Bill even more ridiculous, even more 15-years-old-girl-with-a-crush-ish.

Bill stares at himself in the elevator, in the school bathroom, he explores his fingers while on classes and touches his hair constantly, as if to uproot it the fuck away, because he feels how _stupid_ it is. He never checked his messages.

He’s fucked.

He feels the vibration in his back pocket, and his mouth goes dry.

It’s just Eddie asking to buy vegetables for dinner.

Still, with a corner of his eye Bill sees Stan’s name. A couple of times.

_Get your shit together, Denbrough, you sick pervert._

 

**_god_ **

 

**_i’m so sorry_ **

 

**_i didn’t mean to ignore you, i fell asleep in a minute or so_ **

 

**_i know it’s going to sound weird but i’m glad that you called me back_ **

 

**_anyway, i woke up ridiculously early_ **

 

**_look how pretty she is_ **

 

There’s a picture of the morning sky, mostly lavender-ish purple, but with a slight glimpse of orangy-pink closer to the horizon. And there’s the moon, almost full, patterned with nearly invisible dots only a shade darker than she herself is. She. Bill has never called the moon “she”. Georgie calls all the ships “she”, and Bill suddenly thinks that there is something in it.

 

**_you’re the best cheerleading team btw_ **

 

There are also a couple of newer messages, from an hour ago.

 

**_i hope you’re not ignoring me on purpose_ **

 

**_please don’t feel uncomfortable_ **

 

**_i feel like i have to apologize but i don’t feel guilty for last night_ **

 

**_i did what i did_ **

 

**_if anything, i’m the one who screwed up_ **

 

Bill’s heart shrinks.

 

**I thought about telling you I forgot to charge my phone or summat but yeah I’ve been ignoring you**

 

**I know it’s dumb but I thought**

 

He exhales sharply.

 

**I thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore**

 

**I don’t know why**

 

**I just did**

 

 ** _i understand_** Stan replies immediately.

 

**_but that’s bullshit_ **

 

His heart beats like crazy.

 

**_i always wanna talk to you bill_ **

 

It stops. Feels like that at least.

Bill wishes he could be less dramatique.

 

***

 

Richie and Eddie are gone for two days and Bill’s dying. Not only he’s attacked by his newest realization, he’s also starving, because the soup and schnitzel with broccoli salad Richie’s made he finished in the morning. Bill’s two favourite lovebirds are gone to the Disneyland because why not, and now he has to be at the supermarket all alone at eleven in the evening, buying himself Pringles and coke.

 

**I feel 12 again**

 

**Because I used to buy that kind of shit every day after school**

 

**_you’ll poison yourself_ **

 

**_of course i’d come to yours and cook you something but_ **

 

**_i’m shit at kitchen so_ **

 

**_you better go buy some instant noodles_ **

 

**You think instant noodles are better than potato chips and coke?**

 

**My mom used to say I’d get blood mutation because of them**

 

**_my mom used to tell me the same stuff_ **

 

**_but i’m still alive_ **

  
  
Bill chuckles, puts a pack of instant noodles in his shopping basket and sends a picture to Stan.

 

**_that’s my boy_ **

 

Stan’s boy blushes and bites down the stupidest of smiles spreading on his lips.

 

***

 

**_i don’t believe it’s the first time you try instant noodles_ **

 

**_put your fucking life on it_ **

 

**_oh wait_ **

 

**_it’s worthless anyway so don’t even bother_ **

 

**Why are you constantly trying to convince me that you hate me**

 

**_it’s my flirting style_ **

 

_Oh boy._

 

**Excellent technique**

 

**_i know_ **

 

Bill bites his bottom lip, shoves his phone into his back pocket and takes the tray with a bowl of noodles, a bottle of coke and a can of Pringles on it. He sets it on the coffee table and turns the tv on, choosing a random channel.

 

**The evening got even better**

 

**They’re showing Charlie and the Chocolate Factory on Boomerang**

 

**_Is It That Necessary To Start Every Fucking Word With A Capital ? (:_ **

 

**_hold on lemme find it_ **

 

Bill giggles softly, neat little blush never leaving his cheeks since the flirting technique message.

 

**_it almost feels like we’re watching it together_ **

 

There’s a picture of Charlie’s shocked face when he found the golden ticket on the screen of a telly, an object that looks like a lap covered in grec fabric, a can of cherry soda and...

 **Why are you eating noodles ask your roommate to feed you normal food jeez** Bill types, like it’s not his face that’s fucking burning, because it really, really feels like they’re together. The boy’s heart aches.

 

**_no_ **

 

**_i want noodles_ **

 

**_plus she’s busy sucking her boy’s face_ **

 

**Aw don’t be jealous**

 

**_no offense but my company’s better_ **

 

If it was Richie to say something like that, Bill would tell him to beep beep himself for the rest of his life. But it’s not. So Bill just stares at the screen with Jupiter-shaped hearts in his eyes and wonders if he will ever see the same in the eyes of Stan’s.

 

***

 

“It’s the weirdest first date story—“

“For fuck’s sake, Ruh-richie!”

“What?”

They’re crossing the road to get to the tattoo shop Richie’s friend told him about, but Bill’s afraid he’ll stab the curly one before they reach the destination.

“I don’t wanna tut-talk about it anymore,” Bill says and looks at the road in front of him, hands in pockets, back flat.

“William, okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to annoy you, I just thought it was cute and date-ish a bit. But I know, I know, you’re friends.”

“Thank you, asshole.”

“Hey, there’s no point in insulting—“

“Richie.”

They walk in silence for exactly fifteen seconds before Richie snaps.

“You know,“ Bill rolls his eyes as he talks “ I bet he falls head over heels for ya too.”

“Who sa-said I fall head ow-over heels?” Bill asks, all fluttering inside. Boy.

“William, I’m just trying to help you, you don’t understand. If you keep that shit going for too long, he could really think you’re not interested and—“

“I don’t think he actually does think I’m interested and I, personally, don’t think he’s interested too.”

Richie’s stare feels heavy on Bill so he turns his head to see big dark eyes under eyebrows shoot upwards.

“What, Richie.”

“You didn’t stutter.”

“Not a big d-deal.”

“And would you like him to be interested?”

Bill clenches his hands in the pockets of his jacket and goes silent for a couple of moments.

“If I wanted him tut-to be interested, that would m-mean I’m interested too. But I’m not. I just don’t think it’s guh-gonna work out, that’s all.”

Richie doesn’t answer for a while too. Then, he sighs and Bill realizes he wasn’t just being his loud obnoxious self for fun. He was really trying to help. And although Eddie’s method of just listening and saying something soft and reassuring is still better, Bill knows Richie tries his best. And he can’t be more grateful for such a friend.

“Well I guess all we have to do is wait and see, right?”

Bill huffs sardonically and licks his lips.

“Right.”

When they enter the door with a giant lady made in pink neon lights, there is no one in sight. The desk with big fat books full of sketches is left empty, just like the seats and cups of tea on the table with punkrock-y looking magazines. There are posters on the walls, but not many — they’re all framed: David Bowie’s Harlequin performance, some pictures of Ozzy Osbourne and his bulldogs, Debbie Harry in pink. Richie laughs easily.

“Must be bad timing, huh?” he takes the phone in his hands. “Hold on, I’ll ask Simon what’s that guy’s name. Harry or something, I don’t remember.”

Bill nods and decides to look at the tattoos bit closer. There are voices, he figures, coming from the door to his right, with Paz de la Huerta’s nude on it. Sounds angry. There’s also fridge with cold drinks behind the desk. Bill suddenly wants a lemonade.

He opens the first book and sees swords, different sorts of knives and daggers. Then there are animal skulls, vikings, guns, different shields and pikes, and Bill closes the book with pursed lips.

 

**You know**

 

Bill stars writing the second message but his gaze accidentally slips to the left, where lying on the desk, someone’s charging phone lights up. Bill turns back to his messages.

 

  
**I could never understand people’s obsession with the whole viking theme**

 

  
When the phone lights up once more, Bill already knows.

He feels how fierce his heart has just become, beating so fast it almost hurts. He tries to blink away the black dots in his vision, but they won’t go away. He knows it’s pointless, but he presses the round button of that fucking phone and sees who sent the last notification.

 _Billy Boy_.

The second he decides to run the fuck away from this place, the Paz de la Huerta door swings open, hits the wall behind it and a very angry and very big boy storms out of the shop, followed by a lanky fair-haired boy and with his own curses.

“Wow, what the fuck!?” Richie exclaims and blocks his phone, suddenly standing next to Bill.

“Why won’t he just calm his ass down oh my god,” the door opens once more and a red-headed girl comes out of it, clearly surprised to see Bill and Richie inside.

“I think he has some mental issues, we have to be more understanding, you kno—“ a boy with very soft and sad face follows the girl, and Bill feels that his heart is ready to beat the shit out of his ribs. He feels like he’s in a room with boxer gloves hitting him from every angle. Bill’s ready to pass away. “Oh...hi.”

“Hiii,” Richie immediately says and offers a sympathetic smile. “I know it’s not our business, but what the fuck did just happen?”

The girl huffs and rolls her eyes.

“Nothing much, just our co-worker with his fucked-up brains.“

“Maybe he’s just going through tough times and we—“

“Oh, please,” the third unfamiliar voice says irritatedly, “he just has a small dick, that’s all.”

The boy who’s just entered the room is tall and slender, dressed in a burgundy turtleneck and black skinnies. The soft shade of his curls, licking his ears, would do a serious competition to the colour of rye fields under the evening sun, whilst his cheekbones, his nose, his jawline, so neat and delicate, so pale and sharp, would be easily confused to be made of marble. His eyes, when he notices Bill and Richie, are glowing with that light, translucent brown, framed with dark eyelashes Bill’s able to see from a little distance. His pink pursed lips relax, but eyebrows remain furrowed. He blinks and walks to the desk calmly, but it’s obvious he’s pretty fucking mad. When the boy reaches out to take his phone, Bill swears his temperature’s about 49 degrees in celsius. He feels like throwing up. Melting into a puddle. Dying.

“Ya seem to know a lot about his dick,” Richie says, and Bill is ready to stab him, this time dead serious. But he can’t help staring at the boy, watch his curls bounce a bit when he looks up from the phone, how he arches one of his eyebrows a little, expressions now turning into pitying and a little bit disgusted. _His eyelashes are curled too._

“Yeah, your mom told me all that last night.”

“Stan!” the other boy exclaims. Richie looks attacked, yet impressed. The girl laughs fervently as _Stan’s_ back to typing something.

Bill’s in love and doesn’t know what to do when he feels a soft vibration in his pocket. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, well, it’s pretty fucking obvious that i’m not a native english speaker  
> and i know there’s probably a shit ton of mistakes etc  
> and yet  
> thank you so much for reading, leaving kudos and comments  
> y’all are amazing


	5. robbers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk about this one, but it seemed important

“So you guys—“

“I’m Richie,” this mess of a person interrupts the soft looking sad boy and waves cheerfully. “That’s my friend William, and we need a tattoo.”

“No fucking way,” Stan scoffs, unintentionally sending shivers down Bill’s spine. His voice is husky, pretty quiet, soothing even, and Bill already feels like recording each word that slip away from his lips, put it on shuffle and listen to all those pointless phrases like a melody— _shit. The boy’s properly gone already._

He has no idea how the fuck, but the universe seemed to finally have a mercy on him and make Richie use his full name to introduce him, which is a great plus. Feels like a time-out. Bill still knows he suddenly can’t speak, can’t move, his body doesn’t listen to him, because if it was, he’d be far, far away from here, from Richie, the Paz de la Huerta door, the fridge with drinks, from, well, the boy who’s still sending messages to the person he doesn’t know he’s at the same room with. Bill desperately wants to go home, to lock the door, to turn off the lights and fall into Eddie’s arms, tell him how tired he is, but he can’t. He’s lost control the second after he sent the viking message. This can’t be happening right now.

“Could you please stop being rude to people for no reason?” the sad boy, who now looks pleadingly at Stan, murmurs.

Bill almost smiles when Stan rolls his eyes. He’s always been picturing this particular gesture whist texting with the boy, it’s hard to explain, but lots of his messages are...pretty fucking eye-rolling-ish-ly sounding.

Richie smirks and puts his elbows on the desk.

“So my friend Polly said a guy named Henry makes sick tatts here, so—“

“They probably hooked up, or he payed her to say something like that,” the girl deadpans with disgust. “I mean, he’s not bad, but,” she shrugs. “Fuck, you better take a look yourself, we’re at work all in all.”

“No personal stuff” the boy explains.

Stan looks disinterested. Bill can’t miss how often he looks at his phone. It makes his stomach either sick or, like, all flutterish with those mythical butterflies. Breathing’s easier though.

“That angry white boy, it was Henry, right?” Richie ask enthusiastically, while opening the book Bill’s already gone through. “Oh fuck. Those are pretty bitchin’.”

“Yeah, it was him. I don’t know if he will come back though,” the girl talks again, and Bill marks her beautiful face, all covered in freckles, her blue eyes, bright and icy, and her little retrousse nose, all making her face look young and fresh.

“Nope, that’s not what I need,” Richie closes the book with a loud tap and looks up. “I actually have an idea of what i want to get, but I need someone to, like, do it...” he stumbles over his words and automatically looks at Bill.

“Delicately,” he helps, with a very hoarse voice, followed by a couple of coughs. Bill feels himself reddening again as he stares at nothing in particular and hopes for the best. _Prays_.

“Delicately,” the girl repeats and frowns a little. “Okay, we have five tattoo masters and here,” she points at the other books in front of her, “are the portfolios of theirs, feel free to go through them, ask me, I’m Bev by the way, or him, that’s Ben,” she looks at Stan and her face goes flat, “and this is Stanley, he is a little bit...how do you say that...irritable?”

“Easily annoyed?”

“Ru-rambunctious.”

“Got me,” Bev winks at Bill and grins. “So you better ask me or Ben.”

Bill doesn’t look at Stan’s face. Because he’s kind of terrified of what he could see written over it. Instead, he awkwardly moves towards Richie and looks at the book he just opened.

He notices comic-book characters and a lot of colours, but that’s all, because everything’s so fucking messed up in his head right now. It all is almost surreal, except for it’s not, and it scares the shit out of Bill. He tries to keep calm and breathe evenly, but it’s hard to do, _because apart from being handsome as godforsaken fuck, Stan turned out to be as charismatic, as daring and smart as in his messages_ , and Bill is there, probably looking like a newborn giraffe, desperately trying to figure out how to, like. Talk?

He flinches when Richie starts talking.

“I actually want my tattoo to be just a contour, like, no details and shit, but very neat and yeah, delicate line, ya know?”

“Oh,” Ben says then, looking up from the vinyl player he’s been messing with for a couple of minutes now. Bill bets Ben has one of the sweetest faces he’s ever seen, with those pretty dark blue eyes and soft looking peanut butter hair, pink cheeks and the most adorable smile. “You better take the blue one then, it’s Stan’s.”

Bill then realizes Stan’s gone from his place by the wall. He’s not in the room anymore, and the feelings in Bill’s chest are mixed. He sure as fuck can sigh in relief now, but it’s also disappointing a little.

Suddenly Bill remembers something.

“Hey, you wanna help me with that first and then text your boy, huh?”

Richie looks at Bill expectantly to get a little muffled “sorry”. He puts his phone back into his pocket and looks at the pages with neat black lines in them.

“I actually think those are pretty fucking awesome.”

Bill doesn’t remember Stan telling him about his job, but he knew he was an art major. Still, the tattoos are...wow.

They’re not very complicated, no tons of layers, almost no details. Contours of the most different birds, people-shaped lines, an entire page dedicated to the variations of the moon and the sun, flowers, orchids. Bill knows it all doesn’t take a lot of effort, but Stan’s tatts look stylish, impressive, and those things are not that easy to have. Bill is in awe, and at the same time, he feels something dying inside him, some glimpses of hope, to be exact.

He notices that most of the thoughts about Stan makes him feel ambiguous, to the point of having little nervous breakdowns lately at night.

“Bill? You okay?” Richie asks quietly, and then Bill notices the look full of concern the curly one is giving him.

“Yeah, fine. Juh-just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Getting a tattoo,” Bill lies and smiles easily, because everyone at a tattoo shop gets into such thoughts.

Richie’s face lights up as he starts talking about tattoos that could fit Bill, Ben finally puts an old Gorillaz record on, Bev asks about the tattoo Richie’s planning to get, and everything’s fine. Bill finally calms down. It’s not a catastrophe, after all. There are too many people in the city, and Stan won’t think he’s _his_ Bill even if the name slips out of Richie’s mouth. And it’s most likely the first and the last time Bill sees Stan, so.

He’s sure he looks as pathetic as never when Stan finally comes back, a slight wave of cigarette smoke filling the room. Bill thinks he could go for one too, and then, all of a sudden, Stan’s eyes meet his own ones. The light brown gaze, but with a slight glimpse of dirty, almost swampish green, is unreadable, before the boy’s back to doing something in his phone.

_Of course, texting Stan back is a number one thing on the list, but it’d be too obvious, too many coincidences at once._

Stan probably thinks he’s a fucking weirdo.

“So,” Bev says.

“Ah yes,” Richie purrs and turns to look in Stan’s direction. “I think he’ll make it work.”

“Stan, you got a client.”

The boy looks up, clearly unimpressed.

“What if he tattoos a dick on me? »

Stan purses his lips, and Bill’s heart stops. _He’s almost smiling_.

“I sure as fuck am not going to lose my job because of some dick.”

The look on Richie’s face is priceless.

 

***

 

Bill is one hundred percent sure that there’s going to be a problem if Stan and Richie end up tête-a-tête, so when Richie asks him to be there, he follows, pretty relieved.

“Put your tee off and lie down,” Stan says without looking back.

“Sorry babe, I have a boyf—ow!”

“Behave,” Bill pokes him in the ribs, thinking that he sounds an awful lot like Eddie.

“Thank you,” Stan says flatly, his back still facing Richie and Bill. He’s googling something, while Bill’s silently screaming. “Is that gonna work?”

Richie looks at the screen and nods.

Boys follow Stan’s movements with their eyes, as he prints the picture and transfers it onto the tracing paper with a liner. Then, he takes something that straight up looks like lube and patiently spreads it over the picture. He has beautiful hands, by the way, purplish-blue veins almost invisible, but still follow long pale fingers, and Bill’s sure that if Stan lets him roll up the sleeves of his turtleneck, he’ll see much bluer lines scrambling up to his elbows.

“Lie on your side and show me where exactly you want it to be,” he says quietly, and it makes something to Richie, something hypnotizing, because the boy relaxes a little and follows the instructions given.

He trembles when the cool paper touch his flesh.

“Does it hurt?” Richie blurts out, and this time Stan doesn’t roll his eyes or anything. He just looks at Richie’s wrists. “Those are—“

“I see. To be honest, it’s does,” Richie swallows hard, “but not that much if you’re not too focused on the pain. Some people talk, some watch films on their phones, some listen to music or sing.”

“So technically you won’t kill me if I sing?”

Stan stands up instead of answering and comes back in gloves, with a needle in his hand.

“Getting a tattoo on your ribs is the worst, so,” he snorts, “sing as much as you wanna. Now, look in the mirror and tell me if the placing’s fine.”

Richie tries to smile as he climbs up to face the mirror, but Bill sees how nervous he is, chest coming up and down in short twitches.

“Hey,” he murmurs and takes his free hand in his own, when he’s back. “Wanna tuh-talk about summat?”

Richie turns his head to Bill, and the needle starts buzzing. A visible wave of shiver passes over Richie’s body.

“Do you think Eds gonna like it?”

Bill laughs a bit and shrugs.

“I think he mam-might cry again, but he wue-won’t tell you,” the tension of talking in Stan’s presence slowly leaves Bill’s body as he sees Stan’s appreciative nod. Richie bites his lower lip when the needle reaches his skin. “What do y-you think he could guh-get?”

“You mean what kind of tatt?”

“Yeah.”

“A trashbin,” he says, and Bill accidentally looks at Stan to see if he’s smiling. He doesn’t, but there’s amusement in his eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe one day I’ll convince him to get matching ones, but...fuck.”

“He dud-doesn’t need to get anything, I’m pretty suh-sure it’s obvious he belongs w-wuw-with this one,” he points at Richie with his chin.

The boy’s cheeks visibly darken and his eyes are shining with love, deep and simple at the same time. It’s just love when it comes to Richie, nothing complicated or daring, he gives love and he accepts love with all his being.

But a couple of silent moments later his face breaks into a grimace of pain, and the grip on Bill’s fingers becomes harder.

“Tell me about the tattoo,” Stan’s suddenly speaks, not looking away from his work. Bill takes shameless advantage of this situation, because fuck, this face is made right to be stared at. Soft-looking curls, less messier than Richie’s, lie comfortably on the boy’s forehead, eyebrows a shade darker slightly furrowed in concentration, the curve of his lips pressed to each other is so delicate it looks almost angelic with a slim nose, rounded at the end of it...elegantly. His jawline it lit as fuck, mild light from the lamp highlight the contour of his cheekbones, and while some people would call this whole combination too angular, Bill personally thinks it’s one of the prettiest faces he’s ever seen. _Is it a blessing or a curse, though?_

_Touché, Bill._

“Well, um,” Richie swallows uncomfortably. At first, Bill thought you gotta have a shit ton of courage and too little brains to get a contour of fucking Africa on your ribcage, but...but now it makes sense. And they found Stan and his hands to make it work. So. “I mean, you know Africa by Toto, right?”

And then it happens.

Stan presses his lips together too tight, but it won’t help, because a smile, so bright and honest it’s fucking disarming, forms on his face, and _oh my god_ , there’s a dimple in his right cheek, one single thing to fucking end Bill. He’s never been into dimples, never even thought of them, but right now, he’s completely defeated.

The boy’s pretty sure his own face’s going to break into two.

Richie grunts.

“Hey, I’m opening up here, could you please maybe not laugh at me? Like?”

“I’m not laughing at you, I think it’s very cute,” Stan says, with a chuckle in his voice, and Bill would give all his money to look into his eyes to see them smiling too, but they’re occupied.

“It means really a lot for me, you know, and I’m a little possessive and I don’t want everyone to see the tatt and be like oh, you like that song! Me too! We’re so compatible!” he mimics, and Bill notices that it works. He forgot about the pain. “So a few people like him,” he points at Bill, “and Eddie, my boyfriend, will of course know, but others just gonna think I’m either an art hoe or a fucking dumbass. Shut up William, no one thinks I’m dumb already,” that menace of a person snaps when Bill snorts.

“I didn’t say a sin-single word, darling.”

“You said enough with your eyes,” Richie says sarcastically.

“Peep-people see what the want to suh-see, innit?”

There’s a small huff of air coming from Stan’s direction, and Bill ignores (he doesn’t) the warm feeling of satisfaction growing up in his belly.

“Eat shit. Both of you.”

“I’m afraid we’ll l-leave you workless th-then.”

Richie drops his jaw and then purses his lips.

“Fair point my dude.”

Then he starts a ten minute ramble about the pros and cons of being a local trashmouth. He tells Stan everything, from the very beginning of his carrier aka getting the Trashmouth nickname at the kindergarten for yelling “fuck” and “shit” at kids and teachers, and Stan finishes his work to the unstable sounds of his voice, rising and falling in a matter of seconds.

On the pink and glistening flesh of Richie’s rib there is a black contour of Africa, with all its convexes, zigzagues and dots standing for islands.

“Luh-looks like a head of hippopotamus who looks dow-down,“ Bill blurts out instead of planned words of approval, and he obviously kicks himself mentally a couple of times for being so bloody dumb, but the corners of Stan’s lips are curved upwards a little, almost smile-ish. He nods.

“Fuck, it does,” he says and tilts his head a little bit. “It really does.”

“Cool, now I have a hippopotamus on my rib,” Richie says sarcastically, but Bill knows it’s a defence mechanism. He needs some approval.

“It looks sick, Rich, wha-whatever it is.”

The boy smiles so brightly it feels like the whole room lightens up. Bill feels like a proud parent.

 

***

 

He shouldn’t feel this heartbroken, when Stan waves at them a little and hides behind the Paz door. The smell of antibacterial liquid and disappointment follows him as they walk out of the tattoo shop, Richie babbling about some shit, and it’s not until he pulls out a pack of cigs that Bill is back into our dimension.

“So now you fall for each Stan you meet?” Richie winks at Bill, and he rolls his eyes. Usually, he would blush, but now he’s too tired and too...sad. “Well, I gotta admit, he was hot.”

“Yeah, he was,” Bull says, lighting up a fag. The sunset begins to fade in the skies, grayish-purple wave creeping up instead. It’s cooler in the evening.

“I was gonna make a Stan joke when I heard the guy’s name, but you seemed so fucked up I even thought of going away and getting your sadboy ass wasted.”

Bill chuckles sardonically and takes a drag.

“It’s okay, Richie, thank you.”

He feels a soft touch of the familiar hand on his shoulder.

“I wanna make an apple pie.”

Bill laughs, and this time it doesn’t sound desperate. They go to the shop, buy baby napkins for the tatt, apples, cinnamon powder and beer, they go home, they face Eddie and his shock, then his fond laughter followed with a couple of insults and a makeout session, sit at the kitchen together, spend the evening eating nice food. Everything should be nice, except it’s not.

And when Bill’s alone in his room, the pillow, muffling his sobs, quickly soaks wet.

But it’s not the end of the day.

 

**_same_ **

 

**_vikings may be cool but bore the shit out of me, i don’t think i could watch all those series with such enthusiasm as some ppl do_ **

 

**_i mean they’re all the same, no? films and books and series and even pictures_ **

 

**_damn_ **

 

**_i’ve never met a stuttering person until today_ **

 

**_don’t judge me but i thought i couldn’t stand them bc well i’m a short tempered lady_ **

 

**_but it’s not even annoying, even_ **

 

**_like_ **

 

**_cute a bit_ **

 

**_+fuuuuck shitty coworkers_ **

 

**_i know technically i’m a shitty coworker too at someone’s point of view but it’s not my problem_ **

 

**_my problem is d i c k s around me and it’s not a kind of case i’d be interested in unfortunately_ **

 

**_also my fav person doesn’t answer me although he received a parade of messages thrice and not like it’s bothering me much but_ **

 

**_the fuck??_ **

 

 **You’re so needy** Bill types out, dry traces of tears feel like a clay mask when he smiles widely. And at this moment, he feels like something ridiculously, miraculously, inhumanly heavy is off his shoulders.

 

**I was at a lecture, then met Georgie and fell asleep in my parents’ house lol**

 

**Thank god they weren’t at home**

 

**I had a shitty coworker when I wored at a coffee shop**

 

**She was very nice to everyone but once our manager said she was trashtalking about us all the time and idk why, we were all nice to nice**

 

**The other boy was constantly failing at making decent coffee but he wasn’t a shitty coworker, just a shitty barista**

 

**And by the way**

 

**I missed you too**

 

 

 

 


	6. should i stay or should i go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peace up, a-town

 

Bill could never think he’d be into masochism, but when, instead of distancing himself from Stan, he somehow got even closer with the boy, Bill learned he had a tendency to hurt himself on purpose in all the rightest places. In the daytime, they text so much Bill has to buy himself a powerbank, because the amount of photos and they send to each other is honest to god ridiculous. At night, after a lazy conversation, Bill presses his face to the cool fabrics of his pillowcases and falls asleep, dreaming about hearing that voice again, seing the right cheek dimple much closer, feeling the soft gaze of greenish-brown eyes on him and discovering so much more, like the smell of his beautiful curls, his neck, of the little soft spot under his knee, the inside of his elbow, his inner thigh, warm and silky, the taste of his skin on Bill’s tongue and the feeling of its heat on his body, the full palette of sounds that could escape those pretty pink lips of his, starting from the sleepy muffled giggles and ending up with hoarse breathless moans.

It’s like he’s fucking Hannah Montana with two different lives. He goes to lunch with Eddie and Richie after classes, he meets Mike a couple of times, everything is just like it usually is, but at the same time he checks his notifications three times more than usual and he’s sure his typing habits became much quicker. He doesn’t scroll through buzzfeed anymore, he doesn’t answer shameless flirting at school, he’s not interested in watching boys at football games and girls at parties. He’s not less social, but now, when he sees Stan as something much more, it’s all different.

Now Stan has a shape. And it, along with his blinding personality, is all Bill can think about.

  
***

 

  
**_and that guy oh my god_ **

****

**_i’m not fucking with you he was like_ **

****

**_hey honey are you spaghetti bc i want you to meat my balls or something like that_ **

****

**_i was like_ **

****

**_i’m jewish_ **

****

**_which is not a lie, i really am, but_ **

****

**_i don’t eat kosher food only and don’t always go to temple and reeeeaadd my tooooorrrraaaahhh_ **

****

**_if you’ll pardon the pun_ **

****

**_whatever_ **

****

**_i just don’t understand, do ppl really buy that kind of pick up lines? bc there should be a reason for them to think it works and keep using it_ **

 

  
**Let me be a chicken nugget and take a dip in your sauce**

 

_**oh my god** _

 

**Are you a potato?? Bc I’d totally mash you**

 

**_yes oh fuck_ **

 

**I do not fancy wines, I prefer moans**

 

**_right there bill right there_ **

 

**I wanna butter your toast and eat you for breakfast**

 

_**ahhhhhh i’m close** _

 

**Can I reheat my egg roll in your microwave????**

 

**_what the FUCK bill hahhahahahhahahahhahahahhahahahahaha_ **

****

**_that’s the worst thing i’ve ever heard, i fucking swear_ **

****

**_such a boner killer_ **

****

**_but you were close honey_ **

 

**No**

**You were close**

 

  
Bill’s heart beats like crazy. He wasn’t even trying to hide his giggles throughout the whole conversation, he feels so warm and cozy now, and although he knows it’s just an illusion, it doesn’t stop him from treasuring all those moments they have with Stan. He thinks he could print each screenshot of their chat and pin all the photos on his walls to reread every day, but one — this is mental, two — he should pay attention to all the new messages he receives.

He stubbornly rejects to think about possible future death of their endless chat, but with every laugh, every chuckle, every single goodnight it feels somehow closer. And when Stan heads to his grandfather’s country house, situated somewhere in a town with a very poor connection, for a few days, Bill feels the anxiety making its way to each and every corner of his mind.

“Bill?”

Eddie’s standing in the door of Bill’s room, where he’s been hiding the whole evening, trying to convince himself that he’s studying, not just staring at the pages of his book blankly, mad thoughts going on and on in his head.

“Hm?” he answers, quickly starting to write something down. For the first time in two hours or so.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

Of course Eddie’s noticed.

“Nothing,” the smaller boy shrugs. “It’s just, Richie’s out with his friends and I though maybe we could watch something together?”

“Uh, sure, l-let me just finish my homewuh-work.”

They both know it’s not going to happen, but Eddie still nods and closes the door softly.

It’s not until midnight that Bill gives up. Completely.

He opens his door, passes the kitchen, the hallway and walks into Eddie’s room, to make the boy mumble a sleepy “Rich?” into his pillow.

“It’s me.”

Eddie flinches and quickly sits in his bed, the look of concern too heavy even in the dark room.

“Bill? You okay?”

“Not really.”

He slips under the warm blankets and lets Eddie wrap his hands around his shoulders, tucking Bill’s face into his neck.

“You smell like smoke.”

Bill lets out a small laugh.

“I’m sus-sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I mem-met S-stan, yuh-you n-know.”

Bill feels Eddie’s mouth open and close a couple of times. He takes a deep breath.

***

“No fucking way.”

“Uh-huh.”

Eddie’s mostly speechless while listening to Bill’s story that feels more like a confession. He clenches and unclenches his grip just in the rightest moments, being a kind of thing Bill realizes he’s been needing for a long, long time.

“I honestly don’t know, Bill.”

“It’s just, it hur-hurts me a lot, but it’s so good at the say-same time, I don’t know what tuh-to do. I...want him so bad but I’m scared that he won’t like me, that in real life we won’t be able to talk at all, and after it...I just...”

“Oh honey,” Eddie starts stroking his back slowly, and Bill relaxes again, still feeling like shit though. “I have no idea why you think so, you know that you’re smart as hell, that you’re really fucking handsome, and yeah, it seems like Stan has it all too, but it doesn’t mean you’re suddenly worse than you were. And trust me, you’ve been texting for, like, four months? Five? Jesus, I’m sure he’s gone for you too, no one would do that just because.”

“You don’t know heh-him. I can’t compare, he has too hi-high standards.”

“That’s the point, Bill, it’s not a competition. You should’ve just told him who you were right at the bloody tattoo shop and watch that boy jump right into your arms.”

Bill smiles sadly.

“Stan would never juh-jump into anyone’s arms.”

He feels that Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Billiam Denbrough, get your shit together already, it’s not even funny anymore, how can anyone be that dumb, Jesus motherfucking Christ.”

Speaking of dumb.

“D-don’t tell Richie it was that Stan, okay? If he knows, I’m dead.”

Eddie giggles.

“Of course I won’t, tiger. And I’m not going to press you into doing anything, okay? I just think it’s time to do something more than seducing him via iMessages.”

Bill closes his eyes.

“I love you, Ed-eddie.

“Love you more Big Bill.”

 

***

 

“How’s your pen boyfriend?” Georgie asks innocently, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Bill’s, watching him too carefully while taking a sip of his milkshake.

Bill puts a fry in his mouth.

“He’s okay.”

Georgie doesn’t blink, but there’s something satisfied in his eyes.

“Why?”

“Just wanted to start a heart-to-heart conversation,” he finally says and wipes his lips with the back of his palm. “I invited a girl on our school dance.”

Bill can’t help but laugh at that, gladly Georgie’s grin just becomes wider. There’s a little pink in his cheeks, he looks proud of himself.

“So who’s the luck-lucky girl?”

“Adam’s sister. She’s from another school, because she’s very smart, but they go home together and she’s often at our school. Everyone wanted to ask her out, but she’s got a resting bitch face ( _relatable_ ), and everyone thought she thought she was too cool for them (Bill swallows hard), but I was like, fuck it, and went for it. She agreed, but,” the little boy shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“What’s wrong?”

“She’s dumb as hell.”

“I thought y-you said she was smart,” Bill says in between the laughs, because thank God for something as precious as Georgie.

“She is, I mean, she’s intellectual, but really, like, ignorant. She can’t hold a conversation, and not like I regret inviting her, but I hoped to have fun.”

“Oh my god, Gee, you’re thirteen,” Bill’s still smiling at the boy with unconcealable adoration. “It’s not th-that serious.”

The boy sighs.

“I feel bad for inviting her and not wanting to be her date any more. On the other hand, none of those assholes would do that instead of me, so maybe I was her only chance.”

“You’re a walking com-comedy, you know that, r-right?”

Georgie’s face reddens.

“Don’t be mad,” Bill lovingly pats his hair. “I’m really pup-proud of you for b-being that brave, Gee.”

_If only you knew that your twenty one years old brother is still trying to grow some balls and meet the boy he’s been swooning over for one hundred years._

Now Georgie’s desperately trying to show that it was nothing, but Bill sees how glad he is to accept the encouragement.

 

  
**Life is such a bitch sometimes**

**I mean, things you’re being told randomly, or you hear, or see on tv, you need the most in that exact moment of your life time after time**

**Do you know what I mean?**

 

**_maybe we only pay attention when it has to do something with our own lives_ **

****

**_not someone else’s_ **

 

**_like, we see a tailor’s billboard when we have to fix our jacket and think wow how cool i found it so quickly  
_ **

****

**_but it has been there for four years already_ **

 

**Marry me?**

 

**_it would be an honour but my shift ends at 3am today so_ **

****

**_maybe next time_ **

 

  
“Tell Stan I said hi,” Georgie grins and pulls on his jacket after using the loo. Bill just rolls his eyes.

 

***

 

He has no idea what he’s been thinking, but after walking Georgie home, at 11 pm, after four smoked cigarettes and six chewed bubblegums, he’s standing right in front of the tattoo shop with a neon pink lady hanging on its door. His lips are so bitten it hurts, there are half-moon shaped prints in his palms, his stomach is literally in knots, but he’s still standing there, too hesitant to go inside, too pathetic to go home.

In the back of his mind there is an ugly little goblin hoping that Stan will go out for a smoke sooner or later, but...but they smoke right behind the Paz de la Huerta door... _fucking Paz de la Huerta door._

 _Boy, put your balls in your pocket and—ah yes, you haven’t even grown a pair yet_.

Maybe he should just go home.

Spontaneous ideas has never been Bill’s thing, in the end.

Except maybe texting the number written on the club bathroom wall. Or crossing it out and sending a picture to some boy he doesn’t know. Or going to the botanical garden to steal some bloody orchids. Or—

The door swings open, and there is a very sceptic looking boy standing in the door frame.

“I was juh-just wondering if you’re op-open.”

Stan raises one of his eyebrows.

Bill is so happy he could die.

Not only he managed to somehow save his awkward ass from embarrassment in front of the man of his dreams, he’s also finally, _finally_ facing him again — his stunning boy, his handsome, gorgeous, wonderful darling boy. And Bill couldn’t give less fucks about the wrongs of calling Stan his in his head, about his wet hair or his cold fingers, about the ungodly hours he’s gonna get home in, about the messages, about the consequences...none of those is important right now.

“People usually tug at the door,” Stan says blankly, and okay, Bill’s 100% positive he thinks he’s a helpless sick fuck.

“Oh.”

“Anyway, it’s cold outside, come in already.”

Bill is ready to melt into the thoughts of Stan’s serene voice, but... _damn_ his legs look nice. And so does his ass in those simple black skinnies, little and plump, complementing with the rest of his slim body just perfectly. He’s about Bill’s height, but his body’s bonier, more fragile, if you let him.

Bill looks up when Stan turns to face him and puts the backs of his palms onto the desk to lift himself up and sit on the top of it comfortably. The collar of his knit sweater is so deep it shows up the boy’s collarbones, and Bill tries not to stare at them too shamelessly. _He’ll dream about licking them at home._

“Your face looks familiar,” Stan informs Bill, as he crosses his arms on his chest, eyes still on the other boy.

“I, uh,” Bill clears his throat a little, “my f-friend and I came here ab-about a month ago.”

Stan blinks a couple of times. Every second feels like forever.

“The Africa tattoo,” he says finally, and Bill nods. “You’re William.”

_No, it’s actually Bill, that Bill who you text about assholish pickup lines and banana muffins and who also happens to think the world of you, in case if you haven’t noticed yet. I’m here to beg you to accept my heart by the way, hope you don’t mind if it’s broken, you could fix it anytime. Oh, and I’m fucking falling for you, for the record._

Bill nods again.

“Will.”

Stan presses his lips in a thin line and furrows his eyebrows as his gaze slowly slips down to Bill’s feet and then makes its way back to his face. Bill’s sure there is a bruise on his chest, his heart’s beating that fast.

“You don’t seem drunk.”

There is a little smile in the corners of Bill’s mouth he just can’t help forming.

“Sh-should I be drunk?”

“Pretty much everyone who comes here in the middle of the night is drunk,” Stan deadpans, voice cool.

“I just...I can come an-another day.”

He tries to ignore the nagging feeling of pain, mixed up regret and diluted with disappointment in the middle of his chest. There is the same tiny little goblin who’s whispering millions of “I told you”s in his ear, and...fuck. As if it could’ve gone different, as if they could’ve befriended in seven seconds, as if it wasn’t clear enough that Stan’s out of Bill’s league.

Stan chuckles instead. Bill feels like a grilled steak.

“You look intimidated.”

“You are intimidating.”

Stan arches his eyebrow and tilts his head to the left. His hair looks a little bit pink because of the lady on the door, and so does his face. Major hashtag neon aesthetic.

“D-don’t tell me yuh-you didn’t know that,” Bill says, trying his best to not sound sheepish.

“What do you wanna get?” Stan asks instead of giving him an answer and licks his lips. Bill hopes his eyes didn’t follow the movement of the wet tip of Stan’s tongue.

 _Oh shit_.

He didn’t think about it. That’s the first thing he should’ve thought about.

“A full sleeve.”

 _What_.

Stan’s face looks as surprised.

He quickly collects himself though.

“I don’t think I could help with that, I’ve never done it before.”

“You won’t nuh-know if you d-don’t try?”

They stare at each other for a couple of seconds. Bill can’t feel his face, it’s burning.

“Are you on drugs or something?”

“I’m not oh-on drugs, and you’re in-intimidating me right now,” Bill missed the moment he became that fearless.

“That’s your problem,” Stan says a bit bitterly, then rolls his eyes. “Ah fuck, you’re not my problem either. At least you’ll keep me company.”

He jumps off the desk and pulls out a couple of papers, a pen, an ashtray and two cans of red bull, puts it all on a little table in the corner of the shop and points to one of two seats.

“I’m not a professional, but I think we gotta come up with a lot of shit to put on your arm.”

Bill feels like he could conquer the world right now.

***

Stan makes Bill talk a lot.

He said he needed more than just some things, such as a paper boat (Bill used to make Georgie one almost every day when they both were younger) or a fucked up clown (that would scare the shit out of Bill when he was little, handing out circus flyers in front of Bill’s house); he needed to see them like Bill does. So, Stan made him talk about the letters he used to write on the paper boats, like _SS Fanny_ (the legend is, _Will_ has a lovely sister Fanny), and wax them so Fanny could make them float. Or about two red disgusting lines the clown had drawn from the corners of his mouth to the lower line of his eyelashes and then up to his ridiculously big forehead.

Actually, that Bill remembers too well, because, after telling Stan about the clown’s enormously big forehead, he got a shady look in return.

“Wuh-what?”

“I used to be bullied for mine at school, but big foreheads are hot, so shut the fuck up.”

Needless to say that Bill was ready to cover the boy’s pale forehead with kisses and apologize one million times, but instead, he told him more about that clown’s almost non-existent hairline, which made Stan bark out a laugh and draw a couple of sheaves of hair, planted somewhere in the back of the clown’s head. He wasn’t even trying much, the shapes came out so simply and easily it seemed like everyone could do that, except Bill knew it took Stan a lot of years to manage drawing exactly what he sees in his head that quickly.

He knew Stan was bullied for being Jewish and wearing a kippah he used to hate, but learning about the forehead...felt also very fucking important. Stan is still acting a little cool towards Bill and he doesn’t really talk a lot, but it’s okay, because. Well.

Not only he got him red bull without asking, Stan also feeds him some pistachios and spicy peanuts in between their discussion. He just gets up and comes back with them snacks in his hands, as casually as ever, unreadable eyes looking right inside Bill’s.

He’s tired, it’s visible, but he listens carefully, taking notes and nodding, as Bill unwittingly continues to open up: about some little major symbols of his life, like his bike called Silver, the palm tree in Miami he had his first kiss and endless amount of makeout dates under, raspberry beer he loved to make with his friend Audra in high school. Of course, Bill has to be careful and not talk about some things like orchids, packs of Marlboro Reds and Aleksandr Blok, but...all of those, just a rant, pointless shit, seems to work for Stan as he draws something on the paper, and when he finally looks at his phone (with a couple of notifications from Billy Boy), it’s twenty minutes to three.

“Come here on Wednesday at five,” he says, licking his lips and shaking his hand at money Bill tries to give him for the snacks. “On the house.”

 

***

 

“What the fuck, Bill!?” Eddie yells at him as soon as he gets home. “I thought you were dead!”

He shuts up though, just like Richie, when they see Bill’s face.

“Dude, did you finally get laid?”

Bill bites his lip like a same old fourteen years old girl with a crush and shakes his head.

“Nah. Juh-just a nice evening with Gee.”

Although neither Eddie, nor Richie believes him, they don’t press. Even the latter. Bill apologizes one hundred times for putting his phone on silent and missing their calls, but everyone in the room knows there’s something really serious going on with William Denbrough tonight, so they drop it and go to bed soon.

Bill can’t sleep that night.

The smile wouldn’t leave his face, stupid and bright, a literal swarm of butterflies or some other scum is terrorizing his chest and belly, weird sensation of electric impulses on the tips of his fingers make his head spin round and round.

 

  
***

 

**_  
you ever wonder how come some people do shit that doesn’t even match their personality_ **

****

**_i mean, some real serious shit, like a whole sleeve tattoo_ **

 

There’s a message at five in the morning, and Bill can’t help but laugh at it.

 

  
**Do you think whole sleeves are bad?**

 

**_nope_ **

****

**_sometimes they look cool_ **

****

**_it’s not the point bill_ **

 

**Well doesn’t that mean you don’t know the person then?**

 

_**it’s not that simple** _

__

_**sometimes it’s SO weird i just want to ask them if it was a bet or something** _

 

**Well fuck**

**I think getting a full sleeve bc of a bet**

 

**_is pretty shitty i agree_ **

****

**_why aren’t you sleeping?_ **

 

**I was**

**Woke up to pee**

**Was falling asleep when you messaged**

 

**_well i’m going to bed now_ **

 

_**so** _

__

_**you can go too** _

 

**You’re unbearable**

 

**_stop trying to bear me then and go sleep_ **

****

**_you’re not the one to have two evening classes tomorrow_ **

 

**You’re right**

 

**_of course i am_ **

 

**Told ya, fucking unbearable**

 

**Goodnight Stan**

 

**_sweet dreams bill_ **

  
The blush covers every inch from the tips of Bill’s ears to his chest. _Disgusting_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah


	7. mr brightside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bill’s pussy’s on fire

 

  
When Bill basically flies into the shop at five in the evening on Wednesday, the boy with soft blue eyes, Ben, if he remembers correctly, waves at him politely.

“Hello!” he says, and there are sweetest wrinkles in the corners of his eyes when he smiles.

“Hi,” Bill returns the smile, because the boy’s as adorable as he remembers him to be. Good thing he’s not sad any more. “I, uh, I have an appointment wuh-with Stan?”

“Stan’s not here yet, but he’ll show up soon,” Ben says and presses a button on the coffee machine. “Want a cuppa?”

“That would be nice, thank yuh-you,” Bill says and puts his bag on the chair.

The day’s been fucked up. Waiting and wanting to meet someone so much you can’t even calm your ass down and focus on classes...is yeah, pretty much intense.

“Hey, you’ve been here before, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Bill answers and leans on the desk.

“With a hyper boy who got an Africa tatt,” Ben says ans pulls out another cup. “How’s it? No problems, I suppose?”

“It’s great, yeah, h-his boyfriend’s thinking of geh-getting the same one. But it’s a secret,” Bill chuckles and runs his fingers through his hair. He’s nervous a bit, so a cup of coffee and a conversation with a treasure of a person is everything he needs before... _you know._

“It’s safe with me,” Ben giggles and puts the cup in front of Bill. “Want some milk or sugar?”

“Both, please—“

One of the doors opens before Bill finishes speaking, and the girl, Bev, waltzes out of it. Ben smiles lovingly at the sight of her, his eyes go completely numb with adoration, and it’s understandable. She’s quite fucking gorgeous, all blue eyes and freckles and a smile that could put you on your knees easily.

“Tea party without me?” she asks and pecks Ben’s cheeks quickly, then looks into Bill’s cup. “Oh god,” she says and pulls out the third cup, “almost everyone likes it with sugar or milk, but little do they know it’s not real coffee.”

“My mom would tuh-tell you that’s not coffee either,” Bill points at the mug she’s holding, simple black coffee. “She makes hers in a Tut-turkish coffee pot with all the,” he shakes his hands vaguely, “rit-rituals and stuff.”

Ben and Bev both chuckle.

“Moms live for that kind of coffee,” Ben says.

“It tastes like shit,” Bill shrugs.

“Oh I bet it does,” Bev nods enthusiastically. “Imagine drinking coffee bean soup every day and call it coffee.”

“Coffee bean puh-powder soup, actually,” Bill remarks her with the most serious face.

“Yeah, and we here enjoy this second-handed toxic bullshit,” Ben sighs dramatically and looks at his drink.

“No shade, bu-but tea’s better.”

Bev starts howling.

“Benny, we got a weed porridge lover here.”

“Excuse mum-me?” Bill raises his eyebrows, no glimpse of a smile on his lips. “Do y-you mean a huge fan of hot leaf juice?”

Bev’s laughter lights up the whole room, Ben laughs silently, with his mouth pressed to his palm.

“Benny, he’s cute, we’re adopting him,” the red-haired girl informs her boyfriend, talking a sip of her coffee.

When a cool breath of air lets Bill know the door has just opened, the the three of them look up.

Stan’s eyes, light enough to match the colour of his hair because of some rays of sunshine hitting from the window, scan the room, his gaze very furious, but apart from it, he looks calm and collected. His cheeks are pink from the cold spring air, so is the tip of his nose, locks of curly hair falling down his forehead look slightly messier than usual. Must be the wind.

“Stan the man!” Bev exclaims, but Bill sees the concern her eyes.

Suddenly, he remembers that Stan’s number was written on the wall by his best friend slash neighbor slash second mom, a bit loud and hyper, but very wise at the same time, who also happens to give him the nickname he goes under in Bill’s phone. He almost laughs at the realization.

“How was the school?” she asks, as he crosses the room and puts off his coat. He’s wearing grey jeans, a white tee shirt partly tucked in them, and a dark green unbuttoned sweater. There’s also a pair of slim golden glasses on his head, which Bill fucking loves.

“Fantastic,” he says, voice blunt, face stone cold. The crack of an opening soda can almost makes them all wince.

“Your face says otherwise,” Ben tries softly.

“Didn’t know it was noticeable,” Stan says shortly and takes a deep breath. “You,” he points on Bill, “are coming with me.”

Bill doesn’t hesitate. He murmurs a quick thank you for the coffee and gets two mouthed good lucks in return. His heart’s beating fast as he follows Stan to the room and closes the door as softly as he can.

He desperately wants to ask Stan what happened, but he should probably just wait until he receives a hate parade via iMessages.

“First of all,” he hears Stan saying, “I know I probably look intimidating to you right now, but it’s not your problem, so don’t act all brief and quiet, okay?”

“Okay,” Bill murmurs, though, it’s gonna be hard. He already feels like checking each word at least ten times before letting it slip away from his lips.

And Stan knows it, so he sends Bill a look full of passive-agressive skepticism.

“Wuh-what? It’s not th-that easy, you know?” Bill shrugs, blush immediately covering his cheeks.

Stan takes a deep breath once again. Inhales. Opens his eyes.

“Fine. How was your day?”

Bill must be dreaming.

“Uh, good? And, um...well...”

Stan snorts a little after getting that Bill wanted to ask him how was his day but quickly realized it was a bad idea. Bill, on the other hand, is so red pomegranates would be jealous. He also screams louder than fucking Steven Tyler inside his head, mentally high-fiving himself and congratulating on that little (enormously big, actually) success. He’s still far from getting to the right cheek dimple, but he’s on the right way.

“You know, I hate it when you’re well damn aware that things pissing you off ain’t worth shit, but you can’t do anything about that and just,” he pulls a cigarette out of the pack, still gesticulating vaguely, “just keep waiting for your ass to calm the fuck down. Want one?”

Bill nods and breaths in a couple of times, kind of trying to brace up. He knows he’s opening and closing his mouth continuously in desperate attempts to say something, but the words won’t come out: there are simply none, or there are too many, all trying to put themselves into the first position. Bill closes his eyes and hopes that Stan didn’t see this awful shit.

Unluckily, when he looks at him again, the boy is looking back.

“Is it worse when you’re nervous?”

Bill swallows a knot in his throat, nods and fists the lighter he should’ve used already. Stan’s face is unreadable again, the look in dark eyes is calmer though, his shoulders are not tensed any more. Bill wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Stan’s an energetic vampire.

 _He’d feed him anything_.

“D-duh-does i-it bub-bother you?”

Stan raises his eyebrows.

“You’re my client. It doesn’t matter if it bothers me, I’m being payed for my work, not patience.”

Oh.

Bill nods a little, just in attempt to hide _how hard that one hit_. That’s just...that’s just ridiculous. Just a client, not patience, doesn’t matter.

The feelings inside Bill’s chest are clear now, nothing complicated. It feels like a slap in the face, like a great fall of a Sagrada Familia sized daydreams, like a millions of hails suddenly falling right on the soft daisies at the end of summer. He has to leave. To watch this boy for a couple of more hours for the last time, then come home, block the number, get rid of it, of Stan, because it’s too much to handle. Bill doesn’t like that much emotions attacking him, it’s hard. He doesn’t like hard.

“If we were friends, though, I wouldn’t give a shit either.”

 _Strike!_ again.

“I mean,” Stan shrugs, “it’s cute actually,” Bill’s breath has been punched the fuck out of his ribs, “oh, motherfucker,” Stan rolls his eyes, but _oh my god_ , there’s a smile in the corners of his lips, “not that you’re nervous, because you shouldn’t be, but the, you know, the kind of soft side of yours you can’t hide even if you try,” Bill stares at him, knees shaking and cheeks on fire, chest feeling so hard to lift up to take a breath. He’s sure he wouldn’t be able to say a single word right now. “All the men in constant need of proving their masculinity, they just don’t understand that showing their feelings is not,” Stan licks his lips, “unattractive.”

“A-at this pup-point I can’t re-really nun-not show them,” Bill breathes out quieter than he expected.

“As I said,” the boy hears him, “it’s no bother.”

Bill can’t help but smile at that. He could make a bet Stan’s eyes return it.

***

“You’ll shit yourself every time you wake up with your arm tucked under your chin, hope you know that,” Stan casually informs Bill as he fills the clown’s makeup with red sharpie. Good thing he’s always concentrated while working, because Bill is really sure his face is the richest shade of dumb-as-fuck when he stares at the boy. His eyes follow the soft tremble of Stan’s eyelashes, the rounding of his nostrils as he breaths in and out, his mouth as he tells Bill to go on or be more accurate.

The picture looks really cool. Stan did an awesome job, drawing all the shapes on the different papers to decide the size and placing of them in the final one. Bill, by the way, hasn’t got a clue what he’s gonna do with that, he’s sure not going to get a fucking sleeve, but...they still have a couple of appointments and...yeah. Later. He’s gonna figure it all out later. Not now.

It looks even better with some little glimpses of red here and there. Stan said he had never done anything coloured before, but they could try. And they did.

Bill smirks at his words.

“I’ll try to get you-used to that.”

Stan looks at the clown, lips pursed, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“Good luck.”

His pale fingers fly above the papers as he changes the sharpies again and again. Bill wonders what kind of tattoos there are on his body. Maybe he even has a sleeve. Who knows. He could. Every time Bill’s seen Stan, he’s been dressed in long-sleeved clothes.

There’s the most adorable shade of pink in Bill’s cheeks when he thinks of kissing Stan’s whole body to find out every little tattoo, every single handpoke he got inked on this beautiful marble skin.

***

  
**What’s wrong?**

**You’re off a little**

 

Bill bites his lip after finally flopping onto his bed in the evening. Stan messaged him only twenty minutes ago, luckily.

  
**_my art history prof is a douchebag that’s all_ **

****

**_the shittiest part is i know he’s right i know we should see what the author meant we should educate ourselves and learn new techniques of metaphoring and connecting everything and etc etc_ **

 

**_but fuck  
_ **

****

**_i kind of have different opinions and wait how the fuck do THEY know everything about the painting? about the poem? did the author write all those essays himself? doubt that_ **

****

**_i’m mostly angry because i know i don’t have a fair point bc i’m a student after all and his job is correcting me_ **

****

**_but he just did that too harshly, too categorically_ **

 

**Have you ever had a week of lectures dedicated to Moby Dick’s deeper meaning?**

 

**_hahhahahahhahahahhaha_ **

 

Bill doesn’t notice the smile slowly growing on his face.

 

**In those moments I just try to remember that there are two more years and that’s all**

**I can think what I want**

 

**_see what i want_ **

****

**_get the right kind of inspiration_ **

 

**Hey Stan?**

 

**_?_ **

 

**You’re incredibly intelligent, at least bc of all those things you’ve said about knowing that you have to learn first and then do your thing**

 

**_i know_ **

 

He rolls his eyes lovingly, if it’s even possible, his grinning face hidden in the pillow.

 

**_always staying mature is hard_ **

 

**Sometimes I just wanna say bye bitch and slam the door**

 

**_fight someone_ **

 

**Say their mom is a whore**

 

**_well_ **

****

**_not like i don’t do it_ **

 

The room fills up with the sounds of laughter.

 

**Your prof’s mom’s a whore then, definitely**

 

**_exactly_ **

****

**_and his grandfa’s a wanker_ **

****

**_and i fucked his brother’s mouth_ **

 

**Oh my god**

 

***

“I’m giving up, this is pointless,” Eddie groans and slaps his own face with his hands. “I thought I raised you well, and now you keep proving me that you’re a complete fucking idiot.”

“Stop insulting me and—“

“You don’t even know what you’re gonna do, Bill, you’ve been tête-à-tête four fucking times, for like, _hours_ , and still don’t have a nerve to tell him—“

“It’s not th-that easy, I was going to!”

No he was not.

“Oh Jesus, and what’s the plan now? You’ll let him stick that needle into your arm, cover you up with tatts and say bye-bye? Because I’m pretty sure even a full motherfucking sleeve wouldn’t be enough for you to tell him he’s the love of your life.”

Eddie sighs and shakes his head.

“First you don’t tell me when something happens, then you’re like hi, hello, I’m screwed, please help me out, and in the end, you somehow manage to do some really weird fucked-up bullshit. Not even the opposite of what I tell you to do, just some...weird, unexplainable, sick dumb gay fucked-up bullshit.”

“Well, I’m sus-sorry I’m such a luh-loser, Ed-eddie—

“You’re not a loser, you’re just stupid and will of course end up heartbroken. On the couch. Watching Drag Race. Probably high. Sure as fuck with my boyfriend sprawled next to you.”

“It’s a coping mum-mechanism,” Bill mutters and stands up.

“You won’t have to use it if you pull your head out of your ass!” Eddie snaps desperately, his eyes shining with anger.

“Okay, okay, I g-got it, you’re right, I’m sus-screwed,” Bill turns to him and shrugs, “I am. Now what? Feel satisfied?”

Eddie opens his mouth, but the door slides open and a very happy Richie walks in, completely ignoring the tension. Some weird Prodigy shit’s beat is loud in his headphones, there are bags from the supermarket in his hands, he rambles about the lasagna he’s going to make for dinner “for their favourite boys”, still oblivious to the situation.

Bill exhales, suddenly exhausted, and leaves the sitting room under the worried gaze of Eddie’s eyes.

***

The problem is, Bill’s terrified. And when Stan finally said that in two days they’re starting to put the ink, he feels how bad the situation is. Eddie’s what? Right.

Because Bill has all the features of Stan’s memorized, from the possible radius of his forehead curls to the size of his perky butt, but he also has no fucking clue how to at least start the I-am-Bill-not-Will-and-seems-like-I’m-Ariana-Grande-deep-into-you conversation. He was there in the morning, the day Stan hates the most because he has to work from 9am, and now, it’s four in the afternoon, and Bill has probably just made his best friend cry.

And of course, he answers Stan’s message instead of fixing his life.

 

**Today sucks**

 

_**absolutely agree** _

__

_**what’s wrong there?** _

 

**Umm**

**My best friend is pissed off**

**And he probably hates me**

 

_**for?** _

 

Bill bites at his lower lip.

 

**Being a pussy**

 

**_and what makes you a pussy?_ **

 

**The fear of  
**

**Like**

**Ending up left with nothing**

 

**_and why can’t you stay where you are now?_ **

 

Bill snorts sardonically.

 

**Dude...wow I would do the exact same thing but unfortunately I can’t anymore**

 

**_you know_ **

****

**_being rejected sucks_ **

****

**_but never finding out whether you would’ve been rejected or accepted is worse_ **

****

**_suck it and see_ **

 

**You sure?**

 

_**i’m sure** _

 

**The Will that has been coming to you for two weeks or something is actually me**

 

He almost presses the sending button but there’s a new message.

 

  
**_im also sure that the best people on this planet have these kinds of red lights while literal pieces of trash don’t you know_ **

****

**_fuck_ **

 

**_sorry  
_ **

****

**_i didn’t want to make it about me_ ** _(Stanley honey everything is about you)_

 

_**today just sucks dicks** _

 

**No, tell me**

**What’s the matter?**

 

**_nothing much, you know i hate sundays in general but today_ **

****

**_  
i do even more now bc my friend asked me to cover her up and i couldn’t say no (she asked very nicely) and all in all i’m coming home at like four in the morning_ **

****

**_yay_ **

****

**_ah and there’s also an extremely annoying client i have, i swear i can’t stand him anymore_ **

****

**_i’m waiting to finish the job more than for my own death bc fuck the guy’s such an asswipe_ **

 

**What did he do?**

 

**_nothing much_ **

 

**_just  
_ **

****

**_eh_ **

 

**_he’s boring and tries to be witty or something when he’s NOT and it just drives me insane_ **

 

**_can’t stand that sort of ppl_ **

 

It’s not a slap, it’s not a boom, not a strike. It’s like a bowl of hot boiling water poured right on Bill’s head. He’s so embarrassed he doesn’t even feel his cheeks, his ears, his nose. It spreads down his neck, so fast it’s literally a moment before his chest is burning too. He feels the phone in his hands vibrating, but he’s suddenly blind. Not because of the tears, there’s none, but because of the noise in his head, that kind of noise that doesn’t exist at the same time, you just go numb, hot and so hurt the heart you’ve never felt before feels like the heaviest thing you’ve ever carried. Yes, Bill suddenly feels his heart, and there’s something wrong with it. It’s broken.

Not into one million pieces, not into two, he doesn’t know. It’s just burning a giant hole right under his collarbones, and maybe it’s just shock, but breathing is harder too. He blocks the phone and puts it on the bed, then walks out of his room.

Eddie calls for him apologetically, he doesn’t answer. Richie asks if he wants basilic in lasagna. Bill’s deaf.

He walks out of the apartment and throws himself into the busy streets of May’s evening.

 

***

 

  
Everything’s so fucking blurry and overwhelming, the weight of reality feels as if it’s pressing Bill right into the ground he’s stepping on, luckily, his legs still follow the orders. Though...though, the situation is quite weird, because his legs and hands and body are still under control, but the thing controlling them, aka Bill’s brain, doesn’t listen to him.

 _When reason fails, the Devil helps_ the good ol’ goblin now occupying Bill’s head whispers into his ear, and Bill sighs, defeated.

People passing by look at him oddly, but the boy doesn’t notice. He’s too busy fighting the demons, but what he doesn’t understand yet, is that the battle has been lost for months now.

The realization strikes him the moment he tugs at the pink neon lady door and meets two big surprised eyes that make his body freeze, but not because the gaze’s cold.

“Will?” Stan says surprised, and then Bill sees there’s someone else in the room, looking at him right back in slight anger.

“Uh...hi,” Bill waves awkwardly, all the fear and shame back. But this time, somewhere in the corners of his mind, because it’s still faded with all those drinks he’s had. In the shadows, he can’t make out anything at all.

“Hi,” Stan says carefully and turns to fac the man. “Now, that you know I really have a client, could you leave, please?”

“I was just worried you could be scared of staying all alone here,” he says with the dumbest and the most obnoxious grin.

“No worries, he sure as fuck has a great company now.”

Bill doesn’t even blush at the sounds of his own voice. Stan’s eyes light up with a little mischievous sparkle. The man, however, walks out of the shop, and Bill smells too much cologne, too schmaltzy and harsh to be liked.

Stan exhales, clearly relieved.

“I have no idea what made you came here, but I’m really fucking glad you did.”

Something in Bill’s head desperately tries to click. He attempts to keep himself steady, but falters a bit anyway and ends up pressed against the door with his back.

“Th-that was your cuh-client?”

“Yeah. Piece of shit, actually. Gonna ask Henry to get his tatt done, can’t stick with it anymore. I can’t even call the police.”

 _Click_.

Stan furrows his eyebrows a little when Bill doesn’t answer.

“Will?”

Bill clears his throat.

“It’s Bill,” he murmurs, looking at the pink shadows on the floor. His head’s ridiculously hard and his cheeks are hot, but that’s just the side effect of alcohol.

“I didn’t quite catch it,” Stan makes a few steps towards Bill. “Fuck, are you drunk?” There’s a smile in his voice, and Bill swears he’d sell his soul to see it in the irises of soft greenish-brown, but he knows he won’t be able to do what he had to do long time ago if he sees Stan’s face.

“I said it’s ac-actually Bill,” he says a bit louder, and closes his eyes to keep concentrating, because it’s _hard_. “And I did-didn’t mean to hide it fuh-for that long, but I wuw-was so scared when I found out it’s _y-you_ , and _fuck_ ,” he’s shaking, not just stuttering, “because I was-wasn’t planning to fuh-fuf-fall fuf-for you that h-hard either an-and—“

“Oh my god,” he hears a quiet whisper and closes his eyes even tighter.

“I...I think I should go—“

“You’re not going anywhere, you fucking piece of shit,” Bill hears clear enough for his heart to stop pounding at all, and then there are four—he counts—quick steps, and the floor is shaking under him, the air is impossibly hot, but the hands, the hands cupping his face are not, they’re cold, tilting his head up softly and forcing Bill to open his eyes and watch this face he’s been dreaming of for what feels like centuries so close there’s nothing more in Bill’s sight — no shops, no walls, no lights, just Stan’s face, his hair, his eyes, his mouth.

“Don’t you dare go anywhere.”

And then Bill can’t breathe again, but that’s because of the lips pressed insistently to his, and the boy sure as fuck would’ve fainted if it wasn’t Stan’s hands still cupping his face tenderly, his body keeping him pressed against the door. Bill exhales in Stan’s mouth, letting the curly boy deepen the kiss that tastes like booze and candies, he wraps his arms around his thin waste, dragging him closer, and Stan hums in approval, his fingers slowly making their way to the mop of Bill’s bronze hair. Their tongues slide against each other hotly, the tug of Stan’s fists in Bill’s hair is just enough for him to roll his eyes in ecstasy, the grip around Stan’s waste tightens, until he’s moaning shamelessly in Bill’s mouth, chests tremble because of the lack of air in unison.

And then it all stops with a wet sound of their lips disconnecting, both of them breathing in and out harshly, staring at each other so eagerly, as if to leave this moment printed on the inside side of the lenses of their eyes forever.

“Are you serious?” Bill breathes out, knees shaking, but cool hands on his neck keep him sane.

Stan quirks his eyebrow and chuckles before kissing him again, making Bill’s mouth open beneath Stan’s, his knee sliding in between the boy’s legs and dick rolling up against his red-headed mess’. Bill groans, his hands shamelessly travel down Stan’s back, finally stopping on his butt, while his own hands rest on Bill’s neck, thumbs sliding down his ears. He pulls away with a final nip on Bill’s upper lip, breathless and visibly satisfied with the view.

“Dead serious.”

He looks so beautiful like that. Debauched. Cheeks dark, curls sticking to his slightly wet forehead, eyes shining feverishly, mouth... _oh god_ , his mouth, swollen red and well-kissed, (and Bill’s the one who managed to make it) quirked in a teasing, yet soft smile, letting out broken breaths. Bill stares dumbly, mouth agape.

And _fuck him gently_ , the dimple appears right there, in his right cheek, teeth glistening in the darkness of the room, and Bill is sure that this can’t be happening in real life, that he’s probably lying in the backstreets somewhere, half-dead, robbed and drunk to the point of alcohol intoxication.

“As much as I would like to suck you off right now, you’re really fucking wasted and need to go home.”

Bill nods again, but with the stupidest of smiles all over his face.

Stan shakes his head, looking down at their bodies intertwined in the weirdest way. Then, his eyes soften.

“Let’s take you home then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gbye


	8. i don’t wanna miss a thing

 

  
It feels like someone died in his mouth a week ago.

Bill also feels like he’s been lying in the same position for a month, because his body’s aching. Ah, and he’s almost one hundred percent positive there are knives in his brain, because his head’s pulsating in sharp, edgy pain, making him wrinkle his nose and clench his fists unintentionally.

Well. Not like he doesn’t deserve it all.

The boy’s alone in his room. Raindrops are drumming on the window, the light is grey, almost purple. The bed is warm in compare with the air, so Bill is comfortable under the blanket.

He’s never been afraid. Of riding a bike too big for him, of moving out of his parents’ house, of the future. People would shut him up, but going with the flow with his mouth closed wasn’t much of a problem.

Stan makes him act completely out of his character. He talks a lot, but is scared as hell. Not of talking, but of losing. Not like Stan’s the only light of his life, there are Georgie, Eddie, Richie, of course, but Stan is something new and something fragile, not that steady yet. Yet? Something he’s already got so used to it would be too painful to let go of.

Seems like he has to anyway.

The thought is worse than his headache. But Bill’s eyes are dry, his heart beats just fine. He’d sleep for a couple of more hours, actually, but he’s dying of thirst and has too pee. And take a shower.

His life is not fucked up anymore. He’s not Hannah Montana. Bye bye Hannah Montana. Georgie said, when he broke his arm for the fourth or something time, everything heals, everything will eventually stop hurting, you just gotta clench your teeth and put up with it. Bill knows it, he also knows it won’t help, but at least there is hope next time he’ll actually be smarter. He won’t get drunk and text someone about stares and mouths. He won’t let alcohol ruin his life. Thrice.

Bill winces when his feet touch the floor. The room is cold, he doesn’t want to let go of the blanket, so, just like Eddie predicted, he wraps it around his shoulders and stands up.

He takes a clean pair or briefs and a fresh tee, hopelessly trying to ignore the blush on his cheeks caused by a sudden realization that he’s not in jeans and a henley he wore yesterday, and walks out of his room.

“Bill?” he hears Eddie saying, there is tenderness in his voice. “Morning.”

“Morning,” he mumbles in return, too exhausted to look up and greet him properly. They owe each other a couple of apologizes, but later. Now, he just needs to pee and to get rid of that sticky nauseous feeling on his skin.

Sweat, booze and heartbreak.

The water feels good when it’s burning on his back, steaming hot water dripping in stripes down his hips and ankles. Bill stands there until his skin is pink and he doesn’t feel it anymore. After washing his hair and scrubbing his body to the point of being completely red, he quickly gets into new clothes, drowning him in the pleasant smell of detergent, and tries to brush his teeth with a blanket around his shoulders.

The face in the misted mirror is regular. Fake it until you make it, they say, and Bill sighs, the boy in front of him follows. There are no dark circles under his eyes, which is good, because Bill’s dark circles are weird. They’re not just circles, they’re bags, and...and he breaks the moment he realizes he wants to text Stan about the fact that all the people have different kinds of dark circles. This is exactly what he would text him.

It’s stupid, but Bill can do nothing about the angry tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He presses his lips together tightly and furrows his eyebrows to stop them, but thin glistening paths are already there, getting down to his chin, making him look like a baby. Everything is ruined, that hour he’s been successfully convincing himself that he’s okay and he’s going to be okay is even more ridiculous than waking up with a hysteria already, god, he’s such a fucking loser.

Bill lets out a quiet sob and wipes his cheeks with both hands, again and again, until they stop getting wet. He doesn’t even bother washing his face, he just opens the door, clinging onto the blanket, and goes straight up to his room. He thinks he has a couple of snickers bars and some other shit there, so he won’t die starving and—

“Bill!” Eddie calls him from the behind, he’s still in the kitchen, apparently.

Bill takes a deep breath and hopes his voice is going to sound firmer than he feels at the moment.

“Huh?”

“Are you okay?”

“I am,” he says with a disgusting grimace on his face, glad Eddie can’t see him. Of course he’s okay, already knowing he’ll be listening to I miss you by blink-182 on repeat till the end of the day when he tugs at the door.

“Are you sure?”

And it’s not even Eddie’s voice.

Bill’s sure he looks like that iconic Mr Krabs meme. He has never in his life turned around quicker, all red and shook, to see Eddie and _Stan_ sitting at the counter on their high ass chairs and looking at him, two different expressions on their faces.

Eddie’s smile fades when he sees Bill, a look of fear and panic taking over his soft brown eyes, almost the colour of black tea, while Stan...ah yes, Stan’s unreadable. As always. His sharp, angelic features are calm, yet his gaze seems a little curious, exploring every change of Bill’s face with a silent enthusiasm. With the corner of his eye Bill registers Eddie standing up in a rush, mumbling something about pleasurable experience of _finally_ meeting Stan and quickly walking out of the room after throwing the last reassuring glance at Bill.

Bill doesn’t know what to do.

He’s sober and he’s lost. He’s frightened. He’s in love. He’s half naked in a tee shirt, a pair of boxers and wrapped in a fucking blanket in front of the boy he thinks the world of. He’s a lot of things, but it doesn’t seem enough. So he keeps standing there, staring at Stan who just stares back, his ankles and toes cold, heart so heavy he’s not sure he can hold it anymore.

“Come here.”

It’s not an order. Stan just says it, simpler than ever, with a voice a little too hoarse and quiet, almost intimate. He _murmurs_ it, his hands no more crossed on his chest, but spread a little, as an invitation for Bill. _For Bill_.

In two seconds, the blanket is on the floor and Bill’s body crashes into Stan’s, who’s hands wrap around his waist so naturally it feels like an instinct. Bill fits well between Stan’s legs, with one his his hands tangled in curly locks of hair and chin resting on the top of the golden mop. _No, it’s not gold, it’s rye in the last rays of sunshine._

The true bliss is feeling those tender puffs of breath under Bill’s ear, that warm softness of Stan’s cheeks on his naked neck, and that new yet undoubtedly favourite smell of this boy — the mixture of easily recognizable things like aftershave, blueberry jam Eddie usually makes for breakfast if Richie’s at the uni and cigarette smoke, and unexplainable ones, like the hair he hasn’t washed in two days so the smell of shampoo is completely replaced with Stan’s own, salty and sweet smell, strong and warm.

“I like your smell,” Bill’s mutter is almost indistinguishable. Weird thing, he doesn’t blush after saying that, although it was something completely random and unplanned. _Tell them more about random and unplanned._

“I like the sound of your voice.”

He could say that he likes Stan’s voice more but he doesn’t. Instead, Bill melts into the soft touches of thumbs sliding up and down his hips and tight curls under his own fingers.

“I th-though you were gone. I’m suh-sure I heard the door cuh-closing.”

“I actually was going to go, but your friend Eddie told me you’d freak out and slowly drown yourself in misery and anxiety, so he bought me a toothbrush himself.”

“You...”

“No, I just needed a toothbrush, I wasn’t planing to leave you the day after you confess...”

“Shut up,” Bill laughs, blush slowly spreading under his eyes. He pulls away a little and looks down at Stan, hands still on his neck.

Stan looks back. His irises are brown, more gold than Eddie’s reddish shade of tea or Richie’s dark blackish-brown. And millions of swampy speckles make them look greenish, now Bill gets it. He has a pale, almost invisible birthmark on his forehead. And slight shadows under his arms, like two petals of lilac irises. Bill doesn’t want to let go.

“Don’t yuh-you have evening classes to at-attend?”

“Got my schedule memorized?”

Bill’s heart aches, because that’s it, everything’s here now, every single piece of Stan is right now in Bill’s kitchen. His handsome witty ass with constantly raised eyebrows and skeptically pursed lips.

Bill rolls his eyes that doesn’t really prevent him from blushing.

“I just ruh-remember that on Mondays you sus-sleep a lot, that’s all.”

“Well, I kind of was going to go to school, yeah,” it’s hard to remind yourself that it shouldn’t be taken as a personal offense, “unless you would like to accompany me to that banana muffin cafe.”

He grins after seing Bill’s shooketh face, showing off the infamous dimple. The smug motherfucker.

“Yeah,” Bill’s voice cracks, but he clears his throat quickly and licks his lips. “Yeah, I wuw-would like to ac-company you.”

“It’s a date, by the way.”

The rain behind the windows turns into a nice first spring shower. All the leaves are greener even under the harsh grey of the sky. People hate each other for too many umbrellas on the sidewalks, meteorologists say a lot of suburbs are in danger of drowning. Bill couldn’t give a shit, because in his boxer briefs and a tee shirt probably older than Georgie he was living one of the best moments of his life.

***

Bill eventually tells Stan about the different kinds of dark circles under eyes. Stan tells him that he’s an idiot for crying and allowing himself to think that he wouldn’t like him back and kisses him in the elevator, sadly, Bill lives on the tenth floor. They walk under one umbrella, constantly changing hands that tire too soon. Too occupied with talking to each other, they bump into another umbrellas and their feet soak wet from stepping into all the puddles on their way. As if they could give a shit. Both wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Mostly about their feelings, which is surprising for either.

Bill could have never thought it’d be so comfortable for him to tell someone how he had been feeling for basically half a year about them. Without a shame, he lets Stan know about all his insecurities and downs, all the moments when anxiety took over, and maybe it’s Stan’s fingers intertwined with his, but he’s not scared anymore. He’s not embarrassed.

He listens to the boy, who’s hand he’s ready to hold for one hundred and more years, telling him that he was too unsure that it would work out because of his demand issues, and shit. He’s never had that kind of a feeling, but something inside Bill keeps telling him there’s no way it’s not going to work out.

“I have never seen anything dumber than almost getting a full sleeve just to spend a little time with someone, you know.”

“I was nun-not going to get it d-done,” Bill objects, clearly smitten. “Besides, a lot of peep-people would think it’s rom-romantic, you cold-hearted bitch.”

“Something dumb is considered romantic as soon as it’s done in honour of getting someone’s heart. Even suicides can be romanticized.”

Bill shakes his head in disbelief.

“Stop lying, I know you’re a romantic.”

“Who said I wasn’t? I just think objectively of myself too, otherwise I’m as dumb as you are.”

Bill laughs, still in disbelief. Although the hearts in his eyes pretty much prove he sure as fuck knows everything that happens right now is for real.

***

They end up under the canopy of this cafe’s, because it’s not that cold, plus the tables are dry. Bill falls in love with the banana muffins and the coffee’s decent, and they spend about two or three hours just sitting there, ordering more and more coffee and smoking more and more cigarettes one by one. They’re so hungry for each other it’s ridiculous, but neither can help devouring every word, every glance, every little emotion.

“Eddie was right about the whole drowning in misery and hysteria thing, in the end. I was really impressed by myself, didn’t know I could do this to people.”

“Oh my god, fuck you.”

“Wanna be my boyfriend instead?”

Bill’s frozen for a second. He looks at Stan. He’s looking back. Dead serious.

“How—you know, the luh-lack of shame is familiar to me bec-because I live with Richie, but you are sus-something else.”

“No, I just know for sure you’re so tactful you wouldn’t refer to us as a couple even after two years of being together and I bet you my life you would even doubt we’re more than just fuckbuddies every time I’d tell you I love you. So, I’m asking you now, after six months of mutual pining and almost twenty four hours long first proper meeting, would you like to give it a try?”

“I’m in. I mean, I duh-don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Stan rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but here’s a soft blush on his pale cheeks.

“I knew your flirting techniques were familiar when you came at the tatt-shop for the second time.”

“I wuw-wasn’t flirting with you at the tut-tattoo shop,” Bill objects, moving closer to Stan. Stan, without looking, finds his fingers with his hand.

“Oh yea, staring at me like, every fucking second you think I’m working, like the last lovesick idiot you were — that’s not a technique.”

“Motherfucker.”

When their lips collide, without any rush, without any prejudice, convinces, second-thoughts and fears, it feels like the whole world is finally back on its own place. The evening is quiet, the shower stopped drumming intensely on the canopy, and the ground, the windows, lonely droplets hit the surfaces with a little pop! every once in a while. The sky is dark now, covering the boy’s from the eyes of passers-by, the smell of the air is fresh and sweet. Just like everything else in this moment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end is not that far but  
> not here yet


	9. when the doves cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m back back back again *tongue pop*

 

The first thing Bill sees after getting home is Richie’s face.

“What the fuck, William!? I said what the fuck!?”

“What?” Bill feels himself grinning shit-eatingly.

“Why in the ever loving fuck did that hot tattoo guy bring your wasted ass home last night!? Eds, honey, you know you’re hotter, but—“

“No, you’re right, he’s really hot,” Eddie chuckles, taking a sip of his tea. “And smart? Like, I was afraid we’d be stuck in some uncomfortable silence but the guy didn’t even ask me shit about for how long I’d known Bill, he just straight off started a conversation about economics and food and I have no idea how, but I had a great time having it.”

Bill feels his face almost cracking with a smile.

“Spaghetti head says it’ll be better if you tell me everything, so I’m listening, enter fucking tain me, asswipe.”

“He-he’s kind of that Stan we’ve been texting wuh-with, and—“

“No fucking w—”

“Yes fucking way, how was your date?”

“Stop interrupting him, Edward, let the boy tell papa—“

“I think I’m in l-love.”

The awed cooing lasts for ages. They look like proud parents. Disgusting.

***

“What do you think about that one?”

Bill looks at the big bouquet of roses of three different shades, arranged with some thick and too-green leaves and little white balls of decorative flowers.

“It’s tacky.”

Georgie sighs. Bill licks his lips and keeps ignoring the florist girl, who’s definitely annoyed with him, as he’s been criticizing her bouquets for good 45 minutes now.

“Okay, wuw-we’ll go with lilies,” Bill finally says.

“They’re really expensive for someone you don’t really want to see,” Georgie smirks, following the girl to the vase with baby pink lilies, soft ochre-coloured stamens and dark green leaves make the sweet tender shade work even better.

“They’re the pup-prettiest ones as well,” Bill shrugs and pulls his phone and wallet out of his pocket. The transparent wrapper chirrs somewhere in the background, along with Georgie’s voice, his little bouquet of small orange roses showing off from his backpack.

 

  
**_bought the ugliest bouquet?_ **

 

**Nuh uh**

 

**The most beautiful one**

 

**_not like i think she deserves it_ **

 

**_but it’s a right decision_ **

 

**I don’t wanna go there**

 

**_bill i told you you don’t have to_ **

 

**I feel like I do**

 

**Gee says the same thing**

 

**Like I’m not obliged and she literally won’t give a fuck if I’m there or not**

 

**But I can’t help that feeling**

 

**_some ppl don’t deserve ppl they have_ **

 

Bill chuckles softly.

 

**_okay mr good son go there give her the flowers kiss her on the cheek and go home_ **

 

**To come out of that cage so I’d be doing just fine?**

 

**_bitch i had the exact same thought_ **

****

**_gotta gotta be down bc you want it all_ **

 

“It would be eighty dollars, sir.”

 

Bill looks up and carefully takes the flowers in his hands.

***

“What a pity you couldn’t come with your boyfriend. That would piss her off,” Georgie says thoughtfully on the way home. It’s a five minutes walk from the bus station, and with every step Bill feels like turning around and go the fuck away from here.

“Why?”

“Because you don’t have a physical one.”

Bill stops the smile spreading on his lips. He can’t help the warmth growing stronger and stronger in his chest though.

“Stan and I were not dud-dating via iMessages, Gee.”

The smaller boy rolls his eyes.

“Of course you were not—wait a minute. Why did you say “were”?” he stops in the middle of the road to furrow his eyebrows and stare into Bill’s eyes intensely.

“Well, um. I thuh-think I might have a physical b-boyfriend now.”

Saying it feels as nice as it sounds, and if Bill could, he’d be melting into a puddle of fluttering heart emojis right fucking there. Instead, he feels the happy smirk all over his face while Georgie seems to be completely shook.

“You...you what?”

“Don’t—“

“It’s Stan, yeah? Please, tell me it’s Stan!”

“It’s Stan,” Bill nods and chuckles, watching Georgie’s excitement taking over everything else.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier!?”

“C-calm down, its been two days—“

“Still! Tell me everything, how did you meet? Did you ask him out or did he? Is he pretty? What—“

“I got shitfaced.”

Georgie shuts up right away, his wide eyes and a grin waiting eagerly for Bill to continue. The boy loves drunk stories.

Bill sighs, but the lovestruck heat still bubbling up all over his heart.

“Remember Richie’s Africa tattoo?”

***

  
**_did she ask you to stay for the dinner?_ **

 

**Yeah**

 

_**but you didn’t?** _

 

**Nope**

 

There was no answer after it, and Bill is kind of thankful for that. Not like he’s not used to him mom’s signature behavior towards him, but it still a bit...painful? Yeah, kinda. Especially after one of the most uncomfortable embraces in history of Bill’s life.

And Stan knows it, he knows that Bill needs a moment, maybe the whole evening to kind of move on after this little slap. Just like Eddie after his mom’s call, he cages himself and keeps tracing the wounds with the same knives over and over, which is completely unhealthy, but everyone’s got their own coping mechanisms, in the end.

In the streets, it smells almost-summerish, a bit sour, a bit sweet. It feels like summer already, actually, the sky darkens after ten and the ground is spangled in puddles less and less often. Bill has a leather jacket on, but it feels too heavy. He suddenly realizes he’s missed his sneakers a lot, he’s missed soft kisses of wind on his naked neck, has missed leaves touching the top of his hair gently as he walks under the trees. He’s missed smoking without changing his hands every minute to warm up another one in the pocket, doing his homework or whatever outsides, drinking coke or McDonalds milkshakes because it’s too dry in his throat. He’s missed summer, he’s missed that feeling of ease.

Bill suddenly smiles.

***

Stan’s face doesn’t change when he looks up from whatever he’s been drawing behind the desk. He stares at Bill, face unimpressed and blank, and it’s so comical Bill smiles widely, from one ear to another.

“I should’ve predicted this,” Stan basically perorates, while the pen falls onto the desk and the boy is already walking towards the door, murmuring quickly “must be here for your sleeve, huh?” before their lips meet in a famished kiss.

Bill shuts the door with his leg, one hand in Stan’s curls, the other one, a bit occupied, pressed to his thigh. He wishes for this moment to last much longer, but the kiss stops as quickly as it started.

“I can’t stand deja-vus,” Stan announces, though his voice is sore and eyes run up and down from Bill’s eyes to his lips and back.

“I’m nun-but wasted this tut-time,” Bill objects, “and I’ve got you flowers, lull-like a proper boyfriend.”

He considers it as a win when pale, almost transparent pink touches Stan’s cheekbones and his gaze slips down to see a bouquet of bluebells in Bill’s hand.

“How the fuck did you find wild bluebells in the center of a city,” he says, fingers delicately touching the buttons of deep blue colour. “Besides, I thought you were done with people for today.”

“I just realized it’s almost s-summer and wanted to tell you about it.”

The curly boy’s eyes fly back to Bill’s blue icy ones.

***

Bill finds himself talking about education, with Stan’s head in his laps and his dark eyes looking at him amusedly.

“Fuck the USA,” he concludes and takes a sip of his cider. Stan doesn’t like beer, so there are about six or seven empty bottles of cider on the table next to them, and it’s almost midnight. Seems like no one is interested in getting a tattoo, and Bill loves it like that. Their minds are the least of tipsy, and buzzy warmth is spread in their throats and over their cheeks.

“It’s not the USA, it’s the world. Don’t think it’s better somewhere else. We’re all supposed to be robotic mediocre pieces of meat, so.”

“Sounds sad. And huh-hopeless.”

“Kicks the willingness to live out of your ass, right?”

Bill laughs softly, fingers running though the satin whirls of Stan’s hair.

“I think it ma-makes our whole existence pup-pretty much pointless then. If we’re doomed.”

“There’s always beauty.”

“Beauty?”

Stan changes his position lazily. Now he’s sitting in Bill’s laps, shrugging.

“And art,” he opens another bottle of cider. “And pleasure.”

A moment later they’re kissing. No, not kissing, they’re just pressing their smiles to each other, as if they’re involved in some sweet shenanigan together, some great but dumb mischief. Their noses just block the whole process of smooth romantic kissing, turning everything into some sloppy and hot face-swallowing, which looks and sounds terrible, of course, but they’re tipsy, they’re in love, they’re young, so no one cares if it’s disgusting. Their giggles accompany the muffled sounds of bodies moving together, hands sliding up and down, clothes rubbing against clothes, and the friction makes both of them suffocate in the hot air. It feels too much, but when the smiles fade away, with the first tug of Bill’s fingers in Stan’s hair, and when Stan bites his lip, maybe in return, maybe just instinctively, when Bill’s hips jerk a little, sending shivers down his spine, it all feels like a wake up call, like a green light for heating it up till the explosion. And bless his shameless fucking heart, Stan arches his back and grinds his thighs, forth and back, _forth and back_ , slow enough to kick out a deep moan from Bill’s throat. He’s basically riding him, navigated with one of Bill’s hands on his ass and the fist, clenching and unclenching in his hair.

Gasping for the air, they disconnect for seconds, but right away, after a couple of desperate breaths, Bill’s lips are on Stan’s jaw, kissing their way to the sweet spot under his ear, then down by the v-muscle connecting his jaw and clavicles, making Stan tilt his head back a little and give Bill full access to his neck. He bites the soft exposed skin there, then sucks it hard enough to leave big red marks that later will be transformed into pretty fucking huge bruises, the thought of which makes his already hard dick even harder. Stan lets our broken whines, his jeans that are usually tight as fuck, are now left with absolutely no room at all, and the only thing that could help him—

“What the fuck, man, Jesus Christ—“

Yeah, the only thing that could help him is Henry bloody Bowers, who’s staring at them with the most disgusted face you can think of.

“What, jealous?” Stan breaths out, getting off of Bill, but pulling him up holding his hot palm. Henry’s pissed off homophobic ramble follows them till the Paz de la Huerta door is closed behind their backs and Stan’s lips are back on Bill’s.

“Had ve mth,” Stan puffs against Bill’s mouth, palms traveling down his sides.

“Wh-what?” Bill asks, not able to comprehend what’s going on. He just sees a smirk over Stan’s raspberry-liped and rosy-cheeked face, an ecstatic, almost feverish shine behind his eyes.

“Hand over mouth, Billy boy,” he purrs, voice rough, and next thing Bill sees is the wall, because Stan’s no longer there.

Stan is on his knees, already undoing Bill’s fly when he finally realizes what the fuck is going on.

“Fuck,” he breaths out, definitely not ready to see Stan’s head so close to his crotch, his fingers pulling down his jeans, his eyes too enthusiastic about it when he looks up for a moment and winks.

Bill’s eyes are wide open when he suddenly feels cool air, then hears a muffled curse.

He slaps his mouth with his palm just in time, because a moan, deep and long, comes right away.

The thing is, Bill can absolutely one hundred percent tell Stanley _loves_ sucking dick. He knows he’s not really experienced in, like, sex, Stan’s told him about it before, because hardly anyone was worth spending that much effort and time, but it’s obvious Bill’s not the only one having a good time here.

The curly boy’s a fucking savage, not only against...oh right, he’s always a savage, and giving head is not an exception. He doesn’t take his time and go slow, he just takes Bill’s whole length in his mouth, throat relaxed and breaths steady, and it’s all so hot, so wet, Bill can’t help but arch his back and bite the salty flesh of his palm after the most embarrassing sound he’s ever produced.

Stan’s lips slowly slide off Bill’s dick, stopping at the tip of it to change the angle a little bit. That’s when their eyes meet, Bill’s blurry from the overwhelming heat and pleasure, Stan’s starry ones, with reflective tears in the corners. He doesn’t look down, just keeps fucking his mouth onto Bill’s dick, slowly, even teasingly, tongue pressed hard to the vein under it, locks of dirty blond in the darkness of the room sticking to his forehead.

Bill stares until the first tear slides down Stan’s pink cheek, the boy blinks then, and the hot wetness of his mouth becomes tighter. Bill unsuccessfully tries to cover up one more moan, this time grabbing curly hair with his free hand, and from this point, Stanley decides to go hard. He fastens the rhythm, seemingly enjoying the groans from above, and Bill just can’t take it anymore, especially when the boy cups the base of Bill’s dick to hold it in place. He starts to thrust in, deeper and deeper, clutching the beautiful hair and whispering something into his own hand, and that’s one of the hottest, in every single meaning, moments of Bill’s life.

“I—ah—I’m gonna—gna—“

Stan encouragingly stiffens the grip of his fingers on Bill’s thighs, and the other boy has no, no fucking clue how’s he so lucky to get himself a boy like this. He punches the door with his fist and comes with a choked, raspy cry, his lips dry and lungs in desperate need of air.

Stan swallows. He fucking swallows and pushes himself onto Bill’s dick a couple of more times to clean it from come, gulps of it going down his throat, and there’s a single string of saliva going from the tip of Bill’s dick to Stan’s lips when he pulls away. _That should be illegal_.

“I told you, hand over mouth, baby,” Stan says, licking his lips, and Bill can swear it’s possible to get hard again just after hearing how hoarse and raspy his voice sounds.

Instead, Bill takes a step closer to him when he gets up, and, before Stan is able to say something about Bill being too vocal, he cups the ridiculously handsome face of the boy’s with his hands and wipes the traces of tears with his thumbs, kissing him hard, not giving a single shit about the taste of his own come in the boy’s mouth. Every single gay knows for sure it’s one of the hottest things ever.

***

They walk out of the room hand in hand, meeting Henry and his shooketh gaze in the hall.

“Here’s the key,” Stan says, putting it on the desk,” ah, and there’s lube in the bathroom. In case if,” he shrugs,” you know.”

“I’m not gonna jerk off to some faggots ass-fucking!”

“It was ac-actually dick-sucking, but anyway,” Bill chuckles, and they get out of the tattoo shop, breathing in the fresh smell of May’s midnight.

***

In the first week of summer they go to the botanical garden together. The air is soft and they get home lately in the evening, when everyone at Stan’s apartment has already gone to sleep.

His room is full off books and canvases and smells like oil paint. They’re tired as fuck, but Bill still looks at the paintings of people, mostly, with the extremely different faces. Stan catches the emotions perfectly, their eyes and mouths in deep thoughts, or sweet smiles, or pain of existential crisis. Layers of paint are thin, and the palette of colours he uses shows how delicately Stan sees the world he lives in.

Bill’s soon taken to bed, and he falls asleep with its owner’s back pressed to his chest, but the talent of his boy’s not only impresses him, but also terrifies to death in the most positive way. To see it all, you should be more than just deep. You should feet quite lonely too, to have so much time to notice, and Bill can’t help but pull him closer.

***

He wakes up alone to the laughter somewhere behind the walls, and maybe Stan feels how uncomfortable Bill is, all alone, because moments later he enters the room, a smile growing on his face the very instant he sees Bill, sitting on his bed, bronze hair and freckles much more colourful in contrast with white sheets, blue eyes wide open.

“Good morning.”

“Hi,” Bill breaths out, watching Stan as he sits next to him. It’s the first time Bill sees him in a tee shirt.

“I bought you a toothbrush, it’s in the bathroom. Also, Bev and Ben are making us pancakes.”

Bill blushes a bit.

“Come on, they think you’re the most adorable person in the world,” Stan laughs softly, taking Bill, hand in his cool fingers.

Bill notices ink on the pale exposed skin.

“Tell me ab-about your tattoos?”

The boy chuckles, still a bit sleepy, hair’s a mess, eyes like a dripping candy.

There is a bird, Bohemian Waxwing, on the inside of Stan’s arm, a single minimalistic line. He tells Bill about his bird obsession that started when he was a child and his father used to take him birdwatching, and it’s honestly so heartwarmingly odd Bill can’t help but fall in love more and more, with every word of Stan’s. There’s a crown Bev tattooed a bit above his wrist, to always remind him he’s the only real princess here.

Bill’s gagging, honestly.

The third one is on the other arm, down his shoulder. It’s David Bowie’s harlequin , Stan’s favourite character of his. It’s the first tattoo he’s got, when he was seventeen. The sketch was his own too, it’s obvious, though, same lines and technique of trying to tell something with it.

The last one is basically two words above his heel.

“All shade?” Bill squeaks and bursts into laughter, Stan’s also smiling, a bit unwillingly though.

“Piss off, that’s—“

“That’s th-the best thing you cuh-could get tattooed, Stan, I swear...”

“Good morning, lovebirds!” Bev stumbles into the room, smiling brightly, like the sun behind the window.

“Oh my god, can we please get some privacy?”

“Not now, we’re reuniting with our adopted child!” she coos and leans in to hug Bill tight. “Come on, the breakfast is ready!”

Bill shakes Ben’s hand too, answering his inside coffee joke, the most honest smile never leaving his face, and with the corner of his eye, he sees Stan watching it all with so much adoration in his eyes Bill’s heart is aching with love.

***

It’s been two seconds, but those feel like forever. Forever, until Bill blinks, forever, until Stan shakes his head and tilts it up a bit, lips pursed.

“Stan—“

“I know. I’ve known for a while. Bill, it’s just—“

“Yuh-you dud-on’t ha-have to—“

“I know, I know you don’t expect me to, but I just can’t. I need time. I feel...that’s all wrong, don’t you thinks so?”

“What? Wuh-what could p-possibly be wrong?” he’s almost yelling at this point, heartbeat going insane. Panic takes over his whole body.

“Me! I’m wrong! I don’t do anything, don’t you fucking see?” Stan scoffs with a quiet anger in his voice. “You do everything for me, you just said you love me for fuck’s sake, and I’m just like,” he mimics with the most hurt expression on his face, “hi, I’m a helpless freak who finally found someone good enough, but this time too good—“

“Stan, what the fuck are you talking about!? Stop jumping into some random conclusions, I don’t need you to—“

“It’s not supposed to be a one-sided thing, of course you do, you deserve the world Bill, not someone like me, oh my god.”

“You’re pretty much the only world I’ve been having for the past couple of months.”

Stan opens his mouth and closes it again, blinking.

“See? See? That’s the problem,” he runs his long beautiful fingers through his curls. Bill wants to bury his face in them. “I can’t let you love me just like that, it’s not fair.”

“I’ve never felt like loving anyone unconditionally before, so I can’t understand why you don’t let me do that when I want to.”

Bill can swear he sees Stan’s heart stopping in his chest. Shit. Shit shit shit. It’s too much.

“Fuck,” he breaths out, speechless.

It’s the beginning of July. Bill feels like in the middle of November.

***

Four days. No calls, no messages, no fresh air in his lungs. Richie and Eddie try to get into his room, but it’s pointless. He kicks them out, angrier than ever, but then, when he’s alone, the boy’s almost dead, feeling as if everything at once has been sucked out of him.

Stan’s not easy. At all. He snaps a lot, he’s angry at people for no reason, he’s bossy.

Most importantly, he hates himself as much as loves. But.

Bill knows it’s not one-sided, he’s never felt that. He’s ready to love Stan unconditionally, every second of his life, but he sees things and he might be an idiot, but he’s not dumb.

Buying extra bottles of water, because Bill is a water-loving camel, every time they go out. Kicking everyone’s asses if he thinks something bad’s told about Bill. Extra pillows, four extra pillows. Mountain Dew in the fridge. Listening. Understanding. Not judging, never. Millions of things Bill notices. Packs of Marlboro Reds, for fuck’s sake, although Stan smokes Sobranie Blue.

But even if it’s already a lot for him, for Stan, it’s going to be nothing at all. He’s dramatic a little bit.

And now Bill doesn’t know what to do. Again. No cold fingers on his forehead. No smell of some organic ass shampoo in his shower. No skinny jeans thrown away into the corners of his room. No coming back home to get the glasses Stan has a habit to forget. No sight of this perfect boy watching some bird documentaries with Eddie in the morning, or correcting Richie’s lines and expressions when he’s getting ready for his drama class.

The only thing Bill eats is instant noodles. He smokes too much these days.

 

**Please come back**

 

***

He’s probably sleeping.

It was four in the fucking morning when Bill sent the message.

He would’ve answered. At least something. The room feels like a cage. Hot and poisonous, numb. Maybe it’s not the room. Of course it’s not the room. Maybe he should get out of it and take a shower.

_Stan could call any minute._

And two hours later, when it feels too much, when Bill’s body is ready to spit out the chewed heart of his, his phone vibrates.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he runs towards the door.

Of course, Stan looks like a Jean-Paul Gaultier model, but not much better than Bill. His back is straight, his hands are crossed on his chest, mouth all red from biting it too much. Eyes looking forward into Bill’s.

“I love you too.”

“I know.”

Stan shivers a bit, and Bill notices he’s wearing his tee shirt he used to sleep in at Stan’s. They’re the same height, but Stan’s frame is much, much smaller. Looks baggy on him. 90’s bomb, with his tattoos on his hands and golden glasses on his nose.

“I’m not going to apologize,” he shrugs a little, “which I guess you know too,” he lets Bill nod a little, “but I’ve thought about a lot of things and”, he clears his throat, but,” the sound of his voice is still little, “I think...I need your love, you know.”

Oh.

“I’m bad without you,” he whispers, closing his eyes and shaking his head gently, just before Bill’s no longer afraid of his reaction. He steps forward and pulls Stan close to his chest, hands running up the flesh of his skinny arms, nose bumping to his temple. Stan lets his chin rest on Bill’s shoulder, just breathing in his smell, and so they stand in front of Bill’s door at six in the morning, exhausted and gone, so fucking gone for each other.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanted to say a huge, huge thank you for all the feedback and love, i could never ever think of better support


	10. comeback kid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one came out a little bittersweet 
> 
> whatever

 

 

Bill gets out of the shower when the door bell rings.

He grabs the towel quickly, but then there’s the sound of long and lazy footsteps, and Bill slows down.

“Good evening?” he hears Stan’s voice and something in his head clicks. It’s like, 11pm and Eddie and Richie have their own keys and—

“Holy shit, are you Stan?”

Bill immediately laughs in his palm, recognizing Georgie’s excited voice.

“Uh...yes?”

“You’re really that pretty.”

Bill’s smile starts to hurt him at this point.

“ _That_ pretty?”

“Like Bill has told me,” Georgie giggles and Bill quickly starts putting on his clothes to save himself from further possible embarrassment. “I’m Georgie, nice to meet you!”

“Pleasure. Bill’s in the shower—“

“Hi, Georgie,” Bill finally opens the door, pulling his t-shirt on. He pulls him in a quick embrace, then looks at the boy worriedly. “What—“

“Can I stay here tonight?”

***

Stan and Georgie end up going to the nearest supermarket to get some snacks, and Bill can’t decide if he’s confused or amused at Stan calling him and asking if he should buy Georgie a bottle of beer.

They come come back with four ice cream packs and a shit ton of other things that for sure will make your teeth rot after the first glance at it, but Bill’s still staring at the two while Georgie’s nagging about “just wanting to try” and Stan’s cutting him off with “don’t try to act like a grown up it doesn’t fit you and you look ridiculous and more childish instead”.

“You should be g-grateful he let yuh-you buy all that,” Bill points at the table with chocolate bars, soda cans and Cheetos, skittles, the hugest can of caramel almonds and a lot more all over it.

“Half of it is his!”

“Technically, half of it is mine, but the half of what is mine is Bill’s, so—“

“Oh, get fucked!”

“Get fucked yourself.”

Bill laughs, Stan remains unbothered as he cracks the ice into three glasses.

“Are you seriously going to drink from the glasses?” Georgie tries to come for Stan, possibly for the last time. “When you have all the drinks in cans?”

“Are you seriously going to drink warm coke and hot fanta? Or put them in the fridge and wait an hour or two?” Stan deadpans and gives him one of the glasses, making his way to Bill sitting on the sofa. “Come on, don’t be a child. And bring the almonds, please.”

They watch The Road Within, and Georgie falls asleep on Stan’s shoulder. Bill catches himself drifting away too, staring at Stan while resting his head in his lap. Nothing bothers him, even his mom’s message to make Georgie go back home, even the fact that Georgie has to escape when the pressure’s at their parents’ is too much. It happens time after time, and Bill wishes Georgie could live with him, but he’s just fourteen.

Maybe one day though. Maybe, one day, when they live together with Stan, when they have a dog and a cat, the whole balcony filled with plants and ashtrays, Georgie will join them.

With that thought melting like butter in his mind, he loses himself into sleep.

***

The next day, surprisingly, Stan takes Georgie birdwatching, because Bill has a job interview and Georgie doesn’t want to go home. Bill joins them in some park out of the city in the evening, only to have his heart literally dead at the sight of his boyfriend and brother sitting in some local cafe next to each other and looking into Stan’s Bird Book where he draws the birds he’s seen. Georgie’s freckled face, just like Bill’s, is concentrated and Stan’s is relaxed, while explaining something. The sound of his voice is pure rapture, it’s impossible to not want to listen to him, especially knowing that large monologues are kind of not what he does often.

He sits in front of them, trying to not be a distraction, but two pairs of eyes fly up right away, and two different smiles form on two different faces.

“Hey, Billy!” Georgie cheers, immedeately starting to ramble about the day, about the birds, about the food, about Stan, he looks tired, but satisfied, and even admits that birdwatching is not as lame as he thought it would be.

His phone starts ringing when he’s in the middle of telling Bill that they saw the bird tattooed on Stan’s arm. Bill knows it’s their mom right away, because Georgie’s bright blue eyes stop shining excitedly, and his face falls, and his bottom lip is between his teeth.

“Wuw-want me to talk t-to her?”

The boy shakes his head, stands up and answers the phone, walking away a little bit. Stan’s gaze follows the shape of his, until Bill touches his arm.

“Hey.”   
  
The golden-green irises soften when Stan looks at Bill.

“Hi. How was your day?”

“They tuh-told me they’d cuc-call,” Bill shrugs, not really interested in this subject. “So. Had fun?”

“Uh-huh,” Stan smiles, soft curls falling on his forehead. “Though, seems like your mom’s really that bad huh.”

“She’ll pup-probably going to come here and take h-him home.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Georgie announces, sliding back into his seat. “She’ll be here in an hour.”

“What did she say?” Bill and Stan ask at the same time.

Georgie shakes his head slowly and looks down.

“I just don’t get it. Why does she hate it when I have fun?”

“Because yo-you’re having fun with me,” Bill scoffs bitterly.

“Whatever,” Georgie rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “She won’t change anything anyway. She’s weak.”

Stan and Bill chuckle, Georgie’s face light up a little too.

“Fuck I’m so gug-glad you get along,” Bill breaths out, when he and Stan go outside for a smoke before the food’s there.

“I’m surprised,” Stan says, lighting up his cigarette. “I mean, I thought it’d be hard for me, since he’s a complete fucking teenage maximalist, but like,” he shrugs” “werk.”

Bill breaths out a laugh and turns to Stan, who’s back is pressed against the building’s wall. He gets a curious look in return, they stare at each other for a couple of seconds, until both can’t help but burst into laughter. Bill runs his free hand down Stan’s side, the tips of their noses almost touching gently.

“I’ve missed you too,” the curly one says, his hand dragging Bill closer by his waist.

They kiss under the blue sky, the cafe’s shadow protect them from the last rays of the sun, the taste of each other sweet on their tongues, the taste of cigarettes bitter, t-shirts sticking to their bellies pressed against the other’s, hot summer air not bothering them that much any more. Fags in their fingers quickly forgotten, tobacco burning with a familiar hiss, birds above tweeting cheerfully to the upcoming sunset.

***

Bill’s mom is tall and skinny to the point of looking as if everything nice and humane has been sucked out of her long time ago. She’s not overprotective like Eddie’s mom, but the cynicism and antipathy towards Bill are there in each and every look of her worn-grey eyes. And she’s not adorably cynical like Stan, her cynicism is dry and dark, hatred and dogmatic. Her only goal is not even giving Georgie all the love and appreciation she’s left Bill without; it’s making Georgie a complete opposite of his brother: not that embarrassingly awkward, not that emotional, not that open-hearted and devoted. Those personality traits has always annoyed both his parents, always occupied with themselves to give a shit. Georgie though, they see him like a second chance, a chance to make him...like them.

Unfortunately, the mission has been failed years ago.

Georgie sees her first, his giggle dies unreleased in his throat, the blush of happiness and satisfaction dissolves right away. Stan, noticing the change in the boy’s face, looks up too, and Bill feels the corners of his lips falling too as he turns his head back. Great. Now she must be satisfied.

“Hi, mom,” two boys say at the same time in the same voice. The tension is already unstandable, it’s even harder when everyone at the table stands up.

The woman’s stiff smile is anything but pleasant.

“Good evening, boys,” she says, stopping next to them, straight like a stick, cold like an icicle.

Uncomfortable silence is broken by Stan, who’s been watching the whole scene with a look of passive-agressive disgust.

“Wanna join us, missis Denbrough?”

Georgie snorts bitterly and reaches out for his backpack.

“I’m afraid, I can’t,” she says, giving Georgie a look of approval. “It’ll be better if Georgie and I go.”

“Oh, what a shame,” Stan shakes his head tragically, already hugging Georgie goodbye. He whispers something in his ear, making the boy smile a little bit, and Bill’s heart aches.

“Come whenever y-you wanna,” he himself murmurs to Georgie, leaning in to press his cheek to his temple. “And cuc-call me in the evening, okay?” Georgie nods and tightens his grip for a second. “I love you.”

“Love you too Billy.”

With a final nod, missis Denbrough turns around and walks out of the cafe, Georgie following her like a slave, not looking back.

Bill feels a hand wrapping around hisand squeezes it frustratedly-grateful, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Nice first mum-meeting,” he mumbles quietly, but Stan hears is anyway.

“Mum meeting, exactly” he answers flatly, Bill chuckles at this.

“Hope y-you’ll never su-see her again.”

They remain silent for a couple of moments, still on their feet.

“Wanna meet my father on Saturday?”

Bill blinks and turns to Stan.

“Your father?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean. Of course,” Bill answers sincerely, feeling his hear fluttering a little, while Stan, who seemed a little nervous, relaxes again.

“He’ll be okay, as long as he has such a brother.”

_The said brother will be okay as long as he has such a boyfriend._

***

“You’re stupid,” Eddie snorts and flops onto the bed next to Bill. “First of all, his father is going to love you, because it’s impossible to not—“

“My own m-mother hates me?”

Eddie presses his lips together and goes dark red in attempt to not to laugh. Bill smirks unwillingly too, feeling for sure much and much better.

“I mean,” Eddie breaths out loudly, “that’s not the point. He’s going to love you, and even if there’s one chance out of sixty nine million that he won’t, nothing in the world could convince me that Stan will give a shit.”

Bill shrugs.

“Stan loves his dud-dad. And—“

“He can love his dad more than anything, that’s true, and his dad can tell him you’re too bad for him or, like, yeah, it’s possible, let’s be realistic, I mean Stan’s a bit over-demanding pretentious ass should come from somewhere, right?” Eddie points out. “But trust me, your friend of twelve longest years, Stan would die for you. Literally. He loves himself and loves his life despite popular belief, but when he looks at you, I can tell you’re the only one for him, to the point of asking himself if he’s that good to have you, you know?”

Bill’s eyes are stuck on an old book at the table, but he can feel his stomach tying itself up into huge knots.

“I know.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, we b-broke up twice because he thought h-he wasn’t gug-good enough for me. After the first time he said he luv-loved me, after the sus-second one...well...”

“What?”

Bill exhales sharply.

“After the suh-second one I cried and he was so scared h-he started cuc-calming me down, but everything felt wuw-worse and worse after each second and I told him a lot of things serving the most disgusting face I’m sure I’ve ever had...stuff like no one had given him a right to decide what is good and what is bad for me; that it not being okay to suddenly go like, ah fuck, I feel like I have to break up with him because everything goes too good for someone like me”...I don’t fucking know. Stan ain’t easy. If you think his hobby is birdwatching, go fuck yourself, his favourite thing is a constant need to find a fly in ointment.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie shakes his head, seemingly impressed. “I thought I knew he was properly like, gone for you already, but” he lets out a small laugh, “now I think the shit is deeper than my asshole.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Go fuck youself Billiam,” he punches him playfully, then wraps his arms around Bill’s shoulders a bit awkwardly because of the angle. “You know, I love Richie and I don’t know anyone who’d be better for me than he is, but you and Stan are something else. And stop overthinking, okay? He told ya he’s going to wear a t-shirt and shorts, so put those on and let me cover your hickeys so his dad doesn’t think he’s a fucking vampire.”

Bill laughs and lets his head fall onto Eddie’s shoulder.

“Had a lot of puh-practice?”

“You know I did . Also, watching Stan do it every time he meets his dad—“

“Die already.”

“You sound more and more like Stan, wow!”

Bill groans.

***

“Hey,” Stan smiles as Bill crosses the road.

When Bill sees that boy, every second thought, every doubt and fear dissolve suddenly. His curls tickle Bill’s temple, his warm chest is shaking pressed to his as Stan tells him that his father is already there and that he, Bill, looks beautiful; his lips are soft when they connect with the other boy’s.

“He’s not _intimidating_ , I promise,” Stan says, pulling Bill into the restaurant. It’s kind of a fancy place by the river, but because Stan’s dad and him has been going there for ages, it doesn’t feel like something popping.

“Yuh-yeah, he’s just your father who also happens to be a r-rabbi, pff, nothing in-intimidating at all.”

Stan turns his his head back as they walk between the tables hand in hand and winks playfully.

The veranda is more pleasant, the sky above, swallowing the darkness of the river on the horizon, is almost black with small glimpses of stars blinking exhaustedly at people. There is a man occupying a table for four by the fence with blossoming flowers, separating the edge of the deck and the void of the water. He’s wearing a kippah, his hair black with silver hairs tangled in it, too visible, just like the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and under his cheekbones. He looks a lot like Stan, same bird-like delicate features, but no curls and skin not that pale.

He stands up the moment he sees the boys, his features calm and noble, but still, in the brown darkness of his eyes, there is something adorably unsure.

“Hi dad,” Stan says simply when they come close to the table, letting go of Bill’s hand and giving the man a quick embrace. “That’s Bill.”

“Good evening, Stanley,” he squeezes his son’s back and lets go, turning to Bill.”It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bill.”

Bill tries to smile, not knowing if the attempt is successful; still, they shake hands and sit down, the only person looking not bothered at all is Stan. As usual.

“I hope you’re okay with the table?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Stan says and licks his lips. In that moment, Bill catches a glimpse of something extremely amused and just a little mischievous in his eyes. Unfortunately, a little too late. “I’ll be right back.”

Both men look shook the second he says that, already on his feet. No one says a thing though, four eyes following Stan’s figure, the look in them like a drowning man’s look at the last glimpse of a ship hiding behind the horizon.

Fuck.

“I feel very uncomfortable right now.”

Bill wonders if his chuckle is okay.

“The sus-struggle is rur-real, sir.”

“Donovan, please.”

“Oh. Ok-kay.”

“Well,” the man shrugs, his whole body seems freezes though, “if it’s alright though. It’s the first time Stanley introduces me to someone and I don’t really know...” he shrugs and waves vaguely with both his palms.

“What tut-to do.”

“Exactly.”

Bill bites his bottom lip a little, tension beginning to leave his shoulders little by little, an enormously strong wish to scream at the top of his lungs replacing it. He’s the first boy to ever meet Stan’s dad. _He’s the first boy. To ever meet. Stan’s dad. Fuck that shit._

“I’ve only mum-met my prom date’s parents and just because they wa-wanted to take a picture.”

Mr Uris lets out a laugh, showing off his teeth.

“Stanley didn’t go to prom. He used to hate his classmates.”

“I’m nun-not surprised.”

“And didn’t your parents want to take a picture?”

Bill’s heart falls. When parents learn that you’re not good with your own mom and dad, they automatically think you’re the problem. Well, technically, it’s not a lie, but. Like.

“I, um...no. I dud-don’t think they w-wanted to,” Bill says and swallows the knot in his throat with a smile.

“I’m not going to judge you based on your relationships with you parents,” _oh wow_. Astuteness must be their family character trait.

“You’re not?”

“No. I know some parents might be...less supportive of their children.”

“It’s not about buh-being supportive, it’s about cuc-caring, you know? I’d like it more if they were pup-pissed off or mad instead showing ah-absolutely nothing when I came out.”

“Oh.”

Bill swallows, trying to understand if he’s said too much.

The man smiles knowingly though, something sad in his eyes.

“I, personally, was shocked. Thought it was a curse and didn’t know what for. Then, after weeks of acting as if he wasn’t my son any more, I realized that Stan had always been the most important thing in my life and even if it was against my beliefs, I was too weak to cut him out of my life. Later though, when I was asking God to forgive him, I suddenly realized that it was not his fault, that he was born this way. It led to me finally getting that if God created him like that, he’ll accept him like that too, just like he accepts all of us, in the end, he loves all the people, because they are creations of his.”

Bill feels his jaw muscles loosen up. The calmness of the man’s voice, his confident stare and the simplicity of his words...

“That w-was strong, sir.”

Mr Uris smiles and shrugs.

“All in all, I just want him to be happy.”

“I r-relate to you a lot at this puh-particular point,” the corner of Bill’s lips quirks up a little too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kind of didn’t want to finish this fic on a simple meet-and-fuck note and decided to go bit further into their lives i feel like i need it


	11. splitting the atom

 

August is really hot. It’s almost impossible to breathe, everything feels sticky, as if the air suddenly has been replaced with cotton candy. The sun is unstandable too, with its blinding rays hitting your eyes so bad your head’s hurting the way it would if a metallic slap would be put under the skin of your forehead.

Evenings feel like a blessing, though. Cotton candy turns softer, into satin, and so feels the wind, embracing your exhausted neck and cheeks. After hours of hiding in his room and writing articles for a little online magazine he works at, Bill gets out to pick Stan looking like a model in his little black shorts showing off his legs for miles, a pair of white converse and usually white tee up from work and go somewhere, like an outdoor cinema, or a forest, or, Stan’s personally favourite option, an open roof of 20+ floor building Bill lives in they sit at for hours and talk, smoke, kiss and sometimes fall asleep, only bothered with the cold rays of sun waking up above them. In those moments, when the wind kisses their hair goodbye, licking their exposed arms and legs, when the neversleeping city indeed sounds as if it’s just waking up lazily, when Stan’s chest under Bill’s head rises and falls in a calm, steady rhythm lulling Bill back into sweet, sweet dreams, it all feels like happiness. Seing Stan’s smile for the first time after waking up feels like happiness, it makes Bill smile too right away, like the last goddamn idiot he is. Pecking his dimple, breathing in the smells of his neck and his hair, hearing the hoarse and sleepy sound of his voice, feeling the waves of warmth from his skin do too feel like it. The weight of his body pressed against Bill’s when they are in the elevator, going down to Bill’s apartment to get more sleep. Letting him borrow some clothes. Blindly reaching out to his fingers, eyelids too heavy closed already. No, Bill must admit it, roof dates are his favourite too, especially after they bring there that huge ass floor pillow.

What he doesn’t like is waking up after that. Usually at like, eleven am or something, feeling as if he’s been rotting on the mattress for two years. Everything’s sticky, clammy and hot, and Stan is not there. He likes to move to the armchair in the corner of the room, because it’s right under the conditioner, and fall asleep there, too lanky to be comfortable, yet too overventilated to keep sleeping in the bed.

September is really on its way, with soft rains and chilly nights, but it kills Bill to see Stan like that, because it seems like the boy carries through that bullshit with more struggles than Bill. He’s royalty, all in all, a princess, what do you expect.

***

Bill hunkers down in front of Stan, his fingers he’s just washed under the ice-cold water reach out to the pale forehead of the boy’s, the smallest droplets of sweat formed on it. Stan’s furrowed eyebrows soon relax though, lashes tremble delicately before exposing a pair of big brown eyes Bill stares at in a blissful awe, while they’re trying to focus on something particular.

“Don’t,” he breaths out, when Bill tries to lean in. Bill chuckles softly, while Stan rolls his eyes. They’ve passed over it one hundred times before, but Bill still loves trying to kiss him in the morning. Stan literally hates it, especially when he wakes up second, which means Bill’s already been to the bathroom, and now Stan’s the one who’s breath smells like piss and shit. He, unfortunately, doesn’t care about Bill’s attempts to prove him he doesn’t give a single fuck about his morning breath, and all that’s left for him to do is laugh, face buried in Stan’s neck, while the other boy’s brains are loading themselves after sleep.

It’s a pretty uncomfortable position for Bill, but he forgets about it when cool fingers start tracing his hair slowly.

“I’ve been thinking,” he mutters into Stan’s skin and continues after hearing a hum. “W-wanna go skating?”

“You mean...to the skating rink?”

“Yeah, indoor ones a-are not that cuh-cool, but at least it’s cuc-cold there—what?” he starts smiling the second he feels Stan’s lips quirking up.

“Nothing,” his smile _sounds_ amazing.

“Stan, what?”

“I used to hate it when I realize I’m experiencing some emotions, but...feels good now.”

Bill breaths in sharply.

“I ju-just asked you if you wanted tut-to go skating,” he’s an asshole, because he knows exactly how Stan feels and why he feels like that, he just wants to hear more. Bill Denbrough is a needy bitch, who would’ve guessed.

“It’s like, you know, one day I’m sure I’ve climbed up to the very top of loving you, but the next day, or an hour later, fifteen minutes or whatever, you just...you just do something like that and I’m like, oh shit.”

Bill remains silent. Stanley’s voice is nothing but casual.

“I don’t know. Sometimes it terrifies me, because it’s only been three months, but then,” he chuckles, “I remember the iMessage odyssey and—ah. You know all of that, stop pretending you don’t,” they both cackle at that. “No, but seriously. You’re the most adorable human being on the Earth, with an exception for Ben maybe, hope you remember this next time you decide to get a full sleeve—“

“Bye,” Bill cuts him immediately, the mellow trill of Stan’s laughter fills the room right away. He doesn’t miss the wobble in Bill’s voice though.

“Oh William, you don’t need to cry to make me come with you to the skating—”

“I hate you.”

***

Bill’s hands are wrapped securely around Stan’s slim waist, the curly boy’s fingers clenched on Bill’s forearms as he glides forward cautiously with his left leg, then with the right, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, eyes looking down.

Bill was ready to scream from happiness when he discovered Stan has never learned ice skating.

“Just like that, love, you’re doing great,” Bill murmurs, and Stan purses his lips in attempt to hide his smile. He’s really good at balancing, and his calm and collected strategy of learning pays off. They both know he’d be just fine without Bill’s spot already, but...

“I like it,” he announces, letting go of one of Bill’s forearms and making him move to the left. Then, Stan starts to go faster a little, still holding Bill’s hand.

He’s dressed in tight black jeans and a black turtleneck, sticking to his body like a second skin. His cheeks are pink and eyes are shining, puffs of air coming out of raspberry lips in pale steam.

“You h-have no idea how hot yuh-you look in a turtleneck,” Bill blurts out suddenly, thankfully he’s not blushing every goddamn second anymore. He grins and gets a smirk back.

“I actually do.”

“Oh shut up.”

Stan licks his lips and almost says something, but then a teenage girl bumps into him out of nowhere, causing him to fall right onto his knees.

“Fuck.”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!” she starts apologizing right away, while Bill helps Stan to get up.

“It’s fine, really,” Stan waves her off, back now pressed against Bill’s chest.

“Congrats on yuh-your first time fuf-falling,” Bill murmurs and pecks Stan’s temple.

“Well, it wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be.”

“You okay then?”

“Perfect,” Stan nods, his gaze first slips down to Bill’s mouth, then to his eyes, and the next moment Bill’s chin is cupped with cold fingers, pulling him closer to connect his lips with Stan’s.

***

“You look very grunge,” Bill comments, when Stan changes into shorts and a blue tee. Blue, light and fresh, fits him sick. Though, in the back of his mind, Bill thinks that everything fits Stan. Well, maybe except blue jeans. He’d look awful in blue jeans.

The grunge thing in Stan’s look is his knees, all red now, one hundred percent on their way to become covered in thick purple bruises. There are also a few scratches there, and all from falling especially hard once, he even ripped his jeans a little. But apart from this, he did really good. He wasn’t even mad after falling, just stood up and kept on gliding the shit out of that ice.

“Flattered.”

“Wanna g-get something before going huh-home?” Bill chuckles and points at the nearby Starbucks.

Stan purses his lips and glares at the coffee shop.

“You know what I really want?”

“Hm-m?”

“French fries. And a Big Tasty. Definitely with a milkshake.”

Bill looks at him with a smile and bites his bottom lip.

“A Big Mac a-and a McFlurry, fries included. Pup-plus orange juice.”

“Excellent choice, love...god, I really hate that piece of shit,” he points at the sun. “But today was cool. Seriously, you’re a genius.”

“I wuh-want winter already, skating at a real rink is sus-so much better.”

“I like winter. It doesn’t smell like sweat everywhere. But I think autumn is the best, from the middle of October to the middle of November.”

“I like May and Sus-september.”

“Not that bad. July sucks.”

“Absolutely.”

***

“Ow.”

“Hold still,” Bill shushes and presses a piece of cotton soaked in hydrogen peroxide to Stan’s knee again, instantly starting to blow. In almost any other scenario, sitting on the floor between Stan’s knees when they both are wearing nothing but a tee shirt and a pair of briefs, hair damp and skin smooth after taking a shower, Bill would be extremely turned on. But right now, he’s focused on bright red scratches on milky, slightly blue already skin. Without thinking, he presses a light kiss to the biggest scratch, then cleans his throat.

“I dud-don’t think a band-aid’s necessary h-here,” he mutters, tracing Stan’s knee with the cotton piece one more time.

“Hurts here too,” Stan smirks, pointing on the another knee.

Provocative piece of shit. Bill obeys.

He looks up, eyes never leaving Stan’s, and kisses the bruise, skin rough under his lips. Whatever.

“Good?”

“Uh, no,” Stan shakes his head and licks his lips. “Actually, I’d point on my mouth, but, like,” he shrugs, fists already clenching the collar of Bill’s tee, “whatever.”

Their lips connect before Bill stops grinning, teeth clatter, amused puffs of air come out of their nostrils. The skin of Stan’s thighs is softer than satin underneath Bill’s fingers, his breath smells like cherry gum, his mouth is sweet and hot. They’re not the most affectionate couple in public, maybe a few pecks on the lips and tender touches of hands running down the backs occasionally, so Bill without any hesitation can announce that he misses Stan throughout the day. He pushes his anticipation till the end, until it’s running down his skin like electricity, until they’re home or alone, until he’s not starving any more. And it doesn’t necessarily mean something erotic, it’s just the eagerness to feel Stan, without anything or anyone else bothering them. The selfishness of being the only one — the only one to hear his mellow voice, the only one to see his smile, the only one to devour every single moment of his company. Its not exactly jealousy, maybe one of its very fucked up conditions, because neither does Bill prefer going somewhere with Stan instead of joining Richie and Eddie or Bev and Ben, or catching up with Mike some time, nor does he not want Stan to spend all his time just with him alone, and still...there is something inside him, something triumphant and solemn when they’re tête-à-tête. Either watching The Young Pope in Bill’s or Stan’s room, or choking on dicks of each other.

“It’s hella un...” Stan chuckles, honey-coloured irises under the bright lights of the bathroom crinkle amusedly, when he sees the indignity written all over Bill’s face after their lips disconnect. “Unsanitary,” he finishes and breaths out, his lips swollen and wet.

“With a-all due respect, love, I don’t gug-give a shit,” Bill mutters and kisses him again, yet moving a little to stand up. They stumble on their way to Stan’s bedroom, and if it wasn’t Bill’s tight grip on Stan’s hips, he’d sure as fuck break his nose, but with occasional laughs and soft breaths they finally end up on the bed, Bill ends up pinned down to the mattress, Stan’s knees and elbows on either side of his body, his teeth tugging at his bottom lips and curls tickling his forehead.

Instinctively, he grabs a handful of Stan’s hair, another one clenching the fabric on Stan’s back, and it makes the boy exhale, wet and soft and shaky, because Stan’s not the vocal one. Bill is. Bill is the vocal one, and that’s why he groans, deep and lustful, when Stan arches his back and starts grinding his hips agains Bill’s crotch slowly, their half hard dicks grow firmer and firmer.

With his eyes wide shut, Bill can’t help clenching his fist in Stan’s curls, the air between their bodies ridiculously hot already, the need occupying Bill’s head. He shivers when a breath of hot air from Stan’s parted lips burns his mouth, then digs his teeth into the bottom lip when wet, tender kisses start following the shadow under his jaw. Bill’s hands slip down to leave four deep pink scratches on either side of Stan’s hips, when the friction between their bodies becomes completely unbearable.

“Off, off,” Bill groans, tugging at Stan’s tee shirt, and after a familiar amused chuckle, Stan’s exposed skin is burning under Bill’s fingers. And then with a “Stan, p-please,” his voice breaks not because of his stutter this time when Stan’s fingers all of a sudden grab Bill’s cock through the fabric of his boxers.

“Please what?” Stan murmurs against Bill, collarbone, voice shaken and rough with lust.

Bill breaths out a wet whine and swallows.

“Please, f-fuck me.”

Stan freezes, then lifts his head up and looks straight into Bill’s eyes, the latter’s cheeks burning dark red already.

They’ve never done anything more than blowies and sleepy shower handjobs, that’s been enough for both of them, but right now...right now Bill wants more. All of a sudden. He’s scared of that weird wave of heat rising in his chest, but it’s not burning him, so...

“And who’s the bottom now?” Stan finally says, low and a little bit nervous, which is just enough for Bill to exhale, slightly relieved. Stan’s lips quirk in the tenderest, most awed way.

“I’ve...Ive never bottomed before, s-so...still not me yet,” Bill almost whispers, blushing mercilessly.

Stan’s dark eyes widen a little, palest blueish grey of evening sky highlights his nose, his cheekbone, the line of his jaw from the left.

“Are you su—”

“Just be careful.”

Unconcealable adoration then begins to form on Stan’s face, sweet, and mellow, and so honest and bright it’s iridescent, and there’s nothing filthy in it, although their hard dicks are currently pressed against each other and Bill has just asked Stan to fuck him. The ochrish-brown gaze is to sell a soul for, it screams “youyouyouyouyou”, rhythm matching Bill’s fucked up heartbeat, and Bill meets it hungrily, eager to swallow all this love, every single pinch of infinity coming from Stan’s eyes, devour this moment, dissolve in it.

“I, uh, I don’t have anything, like,” Stan’s voice is trembling lightly, warm puffs of air tickle Bill’s cheeks, “like condoms and all...”

“You don’t have any condoms?” even though Bill’s almost shaking, his voice does not.

“Did you expect me to?” Stan chuckles, the curl on his forehead bouncing a little at the movement too. “I don’t fall asleep every night only planning to fuck you, sweetheart.”

Bill opens his mouth to say something, but his head just goes blank and everything he’s capable of at the moment is forming the dumbest, most lovesick smile on his face.

Stan laughs a little and shakes his head.

“You know,” he blinks and pulls away a little, then stands up making Bill sit up on the bed too, following Stan’s movements, “I just hope that Ben’s dick is not much smaller than mine.”

Their laughter mix up in the emptiness of the apartment as Stan runs out of the room as quick as possible, Bill still on the bed, smile so wide it hurts his cheeks.

It’s good, because Bill is scared. Honest to god frightened, but not afraid. And this stupid little talk, this atmosphere, Stan’s laughter and the shine in his eyes when he looks at Bill after entering the room again, a pack of condoms and a bottle of lube in his hand, everything is right, it feels like that. When Stan cups Bill’s face with both his palms, tilting it up to connect their lips; when Bill’s cool fingers on the bare skin of his sides makes him shiver a little, like a feather in a soft breeze; when Bill lets Stan pull his t-shirt off and lay him down on the bed carefully, making himself comfortable between Bill’s knees; when he pulls back again, just a few millimeters between their lips, and says that he loves him; it all is right.

***

A lot of things you get used to, for example, a person needs about twenty minutes to get used to any smell, and that’s kind of cool, otherwise the life of people would be catastrophic.

The first thing Bill thinks of in the morning is how many times does Stan have to stick his dick into Bill’s butt until gets used to this dull weird pain taking over his lower body the second he tries to move.

It reminds him of pain after doing forty squats for the first time in two or three months, it’s inside him and it’s so odd Bill even giggles into his pillow after catching himself trying to comprehend the entire subject. He winces the second after though, because the muscles of his belly hurt too. Must be from arching his back too much to let Stan take him deeper from the behind. _Fuck_.

Suddenly Bill feels the wind licking the skin on his back, like it always does when the balcony’s door is opened. He realizes he’s alone in the bed, and he doesn’t want to be alone. He wants Stan, like the last needy bitch it’s already concluded he is, and that is why Bill, almost crying from pain, gets out of the bad and goes to the bathroom, with a very visible limp in his walk. He brushes his teeth quickly, not bothering to take a shower. He almost feels Stan’s heavy scent on himself. He doesn’t really not like it.

The air smells like cigarette smoke.

Stan turns his head, breathing it out, when Bill steps into the balcony.

He watches amusedly how Bill takes a few steps towards him, going redder and redder. He moves a little, making room on the couch he’s bought specially for “smoking on it while watching the sky”, but Bill shakes his head and, with one of the most disgusting grimaces of pain, teeth digging into his lower lip, takes a seat on Stan’s laps, drawing out his legs so they lay on the couch.

He looks into Stan’s eyes and opens his mouth. Stan kisses his shoulder and lets him take a drag.

Bill loves the way they look together. Maybe it’s too much, maybe it doesn’t make any sense, maybe they don’t look like total opposites of each other, they’re both tall, lanky and stuff, and yet...he loves the way their hands looks intertwined, Bill’s tanned, with millions of freckles, skin pressed against Stan’s pale veiny arms; he loves the way Stan’s curls turn a little bit more golden when he’s with Bill, and how Bill looks less...ginger when he’s with Stan; he loves everything about the way Stan’s body feels like it’s made just for him, now, of course it’s bullshit and it’s just fine because every person’s skin is flexible and all, but fuck it, Bill has never liked holding anyone else’s hand more. And he’s never been that much of a cuddled, moreover, lap-occupier. ~~_Or a bottom._~~

“You’re a mess,” Stan murmurs, putting his chin onto Bill’s shoulder, eyes shining so close to Bill’s.

Bill reaches out to grab a handful of Stan’s curls, huffs a little and leans in to connect their lips in the soft, lazy kiss, growing sweeter and sweeter on his tongue.

When they look at each other again, a different shade of pink touching their necks and noses, the there is a rumble of thunder somewhere far far away.

Bill sees himself in the mirror of Stan’s eyes. He realizes that there was a hand resting on his hip when Stan puts the cigarette between his teeth and reaches out to grab his shirt only to throw it on Bill’s bare shoulders.

“You must be hungry,” Stan says, offering Bill a drag and takes the last one himself. “I’m not going to act as if we have anything decent to eat but we can order something and share a pack of ice cream while waiting.”

Bill chuckles and swallows every single word he could’ve said. The thunder booms again.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come through softest kids on the block


	12. i just called to say i love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope it’s what you came for

 

 

It is almost impossible to breathe inside, maybe that’s why Bill’s vision is all blurry and dazed, he didn’t drink that much. The scent of Bev’s shampoo is strong around him, although it’s mixed with the impossible, animalistic heat of sweaty bodies everywhere. Bill laughs at something Richie’s just said, but the thought of getting out of here grows stronger and stronger as the beat of music changes again, for the thousandth time.

 

The bright green sign above the exit is like a guiding star and Bill half-drunkenly moves his body towards it, wondering if he will find Stan.

 

Of course he will. It’s been three years with him, and Bill may be disorganized and irresponsible, but he’s learned a lot about his boyfriend.

 

His boyfriend. He still grins stupidly when he remembers that. He often forgets that from all the people Stan has chosen him, which is not surprising. For people with pathetic anxiety and low self-esteem it’s always hard to realize, to be comfortable with something that feels like undeserved.

 

Stan has changed it, though. His anxiety attacks and constant questioning. He says he loves him every day, he tells him how beautiful Bill is when they sit at the balcony in the golden hour and Bill’s hair is burning gently under the last rays of sunshine; when he wakes up and smiles at the sight of Stan, all cozy and sleepy and happy; when he’s working at the kitchen and cigarette smoke curls up from his lips. When he’s moaning on the bed, all sweaty and blissful. When he’s drunk in the elevator, staring at Stan in the mirror and laughing stupidly about that. Bill melts, keeping all those little things deep in his heart.

 

He’s learned that Stan doesn’t like whiskey and never sleeps before morning flights. He’s learned that Stan _can_ actuallysing and likes rose syrup in his coffee. He’s learned that Stan gets tired quickly and loves freezing himself to death, and that is why Bill finds himself in the street, in this cold February night, breathing out uneven clouds of steam.

 

Stan is there, sitting on a bench and smoking, staring at the road, busy and noisy even at 2am. Yellow, red and green lights are nothing but a flesh in front of Bill’s gaze, he sits next to Stan and puts his head on his shoulder, not feeling the cold anymore. Well, maybe he feels it, but it’s long forgotten. Stan hands him the fag.

 

“Why aren’t there any blue lights?” he asks, and his voice is almost lost between car signals and the wind wandering around the top of the roofs above their heads. “Red lights, green lights, yellow lights, but no blue ones. Blues would be prettier.”

 

Bill swallows. His breathing is steady now, his cheeks are burning under the frosty air. Even three years later, Stan feels new. Awkwardly, impossibly familiar, but still new. He could say about blue lights million years ago, they pass the streets every day, and yet he’s saying this now.

 

Maybe he’ll say that Tobey Maguire is the coolest after ten times of re-watching Spider Man, maybe he’ll say that banana ice cream is bullshit after seing it for the thousandth time at the supermarket, maybe he’ll say he doesn’t like the sound of Carly Rae Jepsen’s voice after hearing Call me maybe as if for the first time. As if.

 

This man has so many thoughts in his head. Bill knows that everyone does, but he can’t help but think that Stan has more. He keeps amazing him, intriguing him, making him want to listen and wonder more and more, and it’s only been three years. Only three. Or the whole three. Bill doesn’t know. He can’t get enough, he’s _stupidly_ in love with this boy. This man. This soul, this heart, this body.  Everything. Every single one, undoubtedly. 

 

“What would they stand for, though?” Bill says quietly. “I think everything is right. Red is alarming, yellow is soft and green is the colour of life, of a start. Blue lights would be pretty indeed, but—“

 

“I think you should marry me.”

 

Bill’s breath hitches in his throat.

 

He straightens up and looks at Stan whotakes the last drag and tosses his cigarette down. Then looks up to meet Bill’s eyes.

 

“Will you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys...my dudes  
> never start posting a story you haven’t finished yet seriously that’s a trap  
> i’m endlessly sorry to be so late with the ending and i owe you for your patience and also thank you so very much for liking this and leaving comments  
> i couldn’t be more grateful for such readers  
> i hope you liked my point perspective 
> 
> love always


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